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I 


THE SHORT CUT 


BY 

G. ELLIOT FLINT 



THE ROMANCE PRESS 
NEW YORK 
1909 



Copyright, 1909, bt 
THE ROMANCE PRESS 



LIBRARY of CaWGRESS 
1 wo CoDifts Received 

APR 16 

Copyntni Entry 
[tir.SS .KXc. i>(o, 

t T'lO 

Ci.'l'-r' o’. 


J 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Athlete 5 

II. A Cynical Philosopher 14 

III. Two Stories and a Near Tragedy ... 30 

IV. An Evening in the Tenderloin .... 43 

V. An Assignment 59 

VI. Its Execution 63 

VII. A Stag Dinner 74 

VIII. A Disillusion 97 

IX. An Unfortunate Meeting 110 

X. New Illusions Il6 

XI. A Disagreeable Discovery 126 

XII. Passing of the Illusion 132 

XIII. Disintegration 138 

XIV. A Proposal and a Slander 149 

XV. ** Ashes Shalt Thou Eat” 158 

XVI. The Wages of Sin 170 

XVII. Beneath the Surface 186 

XVIII. A Rift in the Clouds 197 


3 


Contents 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX. Frank has an Experience 208 

XX. George Drops In 225 

XXI. Fred Asks and it is Not Given Unto Him 236 

XXII. Plotting 250 

XXIII. Consummation 260 

XXIV. Reconciliation 274 

XXV. Probation 287 

XXVI. Conclusion 291 


4 


THE SHORT CUT 


CHAPTER I 

THE ATHLETE 

Fred Barry was a reporter. Like most of 
his kind he was usually tired; so it was already 
eleven o’clock on a certain Friday morning in 
April when he yawned, stretched, and sleepily 
opened his eyes in his bedroom on the top floor 
of No. — East Thirty-first Street. A faint 
smile played about his lips as he again lazily 
elongated his big body and realized that it was 
his day off. Presently there was a knock at the 
door and a maid entered carrying coffee and a 
hot breakfast on a tray, the appetizing odors of 
which soon roused his dormant energy sufficiently 
to make him spring out of bed. 

Fred’s room was a conglomerate of pictur- 
esque oddities. Water colors, swords, boxing 
gloves, cartoon sketches, photographs of women, 
5 


The Short Cut 


bowie knives, and colored cards of race horses 
and athletes covered the walls. On the mantel 
a formidable clay model of Hercules glowered 
above a pair of huge nickel-plated dumb-bells. 
The funiture consisted of a brass bed, a chiffonier, 
a leather armchair, a walnut secretaire, and a 
small hanging bookcase containing philosophical 
volumes and a few medical books. 

After having shaved, dressed and breakfasted, 
Barry descended to the first hall, where he 
donned a light overcoat and sauntered out to a 
gymnasium near by, of which he was a member. 
A popular idol of that muscle-worshiping place, 
he was greeted with enthusiasm. 

Truly, Fred Barry, with a bearing quite un- 
affected and manly, features regular and refined, 
and head well set upon a massive yet shapely 
neck, appeared a handsome fellow. He stood 
six feet in his stockings and was powerfully 
rather than heavily built. His particular hobby 
was to “put up” big dumb-bells; and, indeed, 
he could handle with ease weights that stouter 
and apparently stronger men could not so much 
as move. But Barry had a weakness; he simply 
6 


The Athlete 


could not resist a pretty woman. A glance of 
a warm feminine eye, and he would follow its 
owner where’er she listed — at least, so said his 
friends. 

Having exercised until pleasantly fatigued, 
Barry retired to the dressing room and thence 
to the bath, where he enjoyed an invigorating 
shower of cold water. He then put on a bath- 
robe, lighted a cigar and stretched his powerful 
body on a sofa to enjoy a quiet smoke. No one 
who has not tried hard muscular exercise can 
realize Barry’s pure physical enjoyment as he 
lay smoking, the while lazily following with his 
eye the spiral clouds densely exhaled. 

“ Well, Freddy, how’s everything? ” some one 
interrogated suddenly. 

Barry glanced up and recognized a stocky 
young fellow, one of the gymnasium’s “ strong 
men.” 

“ So-so, George. How are things with you? ” 
he said lazily. 

“ Oh, not too bad.” George took a knife out 
of his pocket and began to whittle. Presently 
he stopped to gaze ruefully at the blade, the 
7 


The Short Cut 


point of which had been truncated. “ The idiot 
who broke my knife,” he growled, “ did it by 
trying to bore a hole in a newspaper which he 
brilliantly rested on a slab of marble. He’s an 
idiotor — I mean an editor. Strange that a man 
should bore us with what he can’t bore.” 

‘‘ Seen John Leeds lately? ” 

“ Nop. That divine student of divinity seems 
to have shaken us. I guess he prefers exorcising 
his soul to exercising his body.” 

“ Going upstairs? ” 

I think not. I’m too powerful weak to- 
day to handle the weights; so what’s the use? ” 
Fred laughed. “You use the oddest expres- 
sions I ever heard.” 

“By Jove!” George clapped his hand 
to his breast pocket. “ I forgot to mail that 
letter my sister gave me. It’s all right 
though; I promised to post it if it took me a 
month.” 

“ Your sister sings, doesn’t she? ” 

“Not exactly. She recites notes, each one ab- 
solutely correct. She lacks what the French 
call abandon. In fact, if she sang worse, she’d 
8 


The Athlete 


sing better. IVe heard worse singing than hers 
that was much more agreeable. 

“ How’s your father? ” 

“ First rate.” 

“ Isn’t he a doctor? ” 

“ Yes, he is.” 

“ What’s his specialty? ” 

“ Just now it’s an insanity for adjudging 
everyone insane. He says I am; so if you wish 
to estimate the worth of his judgment, you have 
only to consider that he thinks me a fine example 
of what he terms, ‘ arrested development,’ the 
source of his peculiar idea being my liking to 
laze around, and my consequent inability to suc- 
ceed — or, rather, to suck money — ’ceed don’t 
pay. Now, while I don’t claim any remarkable 
brilliancy of intellect, or assert that I belong to 
the genus genius, I consider myself hardly a 
typical atypical of the genus idiot.” 

“ You’re a success at roasting your father.” 

He needs it. He isn’t well enough done.” 

“ Did you ever meet a woman you could 
trust? ” Fred asked irrelevantly. 

George stared. He was a confirmed mis- 
9 


The Short Cut 


ogynist. “ Good heavens! ” he exclaimed testily. 
“ Women again! For God’s sake let ’em rest.” 

“ Why don’t you get married? ” 

“Married! I!” cried George. “Although 
I beheve I’d be as happy after taking as before. 
Most women are fools; and those that aren’t 
ought to be.” 

“ I was about to say,” Fred continued, “ that 
two weeks ago I met the prettiest and most-inno- 
cent-appearing girl you ever saw. I was just 
beginning to be rather fond of her when I found 
that she had been playing me for an easy mark.” 

“ Well, that shouldn’t have surprised you/' 
said George easily. “ A man who’s knocked 
around as much as you have ought to know 
that they’re all after the stuif.” 

“ Maybe,” said Barry musingly. “ Still, it’s 
tough to be disappointed in everyone one meets. 
By heaven, I’d like to find a woman who’d think 
just a little more of love than of money. I tell 
you, George” — Barry raised himself on his el- 
bow and his fine face glowed — “ if I could 
find one who’d stick, I’d stand by her no matter 
what happened. She might lie, steal, and even 
10 


The Athlete 


commit murder, but so long as she loved me. I’ll 
be hanged if I’d desert her.” 

‘‘ There’re lots of that kind,” remarked 
George dryly, “ except the sticking part. No 
woman can be guaranteed on that point. But 
what’s the matter with Marion Leeds? True, 
she doesn’t lie nor steal nor even commit murder, 
but she’s devilish handsome and she looks as 
though she might stick — if she ever took hold.” 

Barry flushed. “ Pshaw ! Do you think 
she^d care for a poor devil like me? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know ” — reassuringly — “ wom- 
en have queer fancies.” 

“ Thanks.” 

“ And besides,” George went on, “ you’re not 
so poor.” 

“ I am, compared with her. She’s worth mil- 
lions.” 

“ What of that! Millionairesses have run off 
with coachmen — at present, they prefer chauf- 
feurs. The chug and not the plug drivers get 
the rich girls nowadays.” 

“ Rot,” said Fred contemptuously. “ Most 
of our millionairesses, as you call them, marry 
11 


The Short Cut 

counts and dukes, and occasionally one lands a 
prince.” 

“ A queen of diamonds and a king of hearts 
beat a pair of jacks.” 

“ What does that mean? ” 

“ That women of the first class, because they 
marry for love, are better than women of the sec- 
ond class, who virtually sell themselves for the ex- 
quisite delight of being called Countess, Duchess, 
or at least Lady this or that. But the principals 
in all such contracts are fools, and not one ‘ lives 
happily ever after.’ ” 

“ Why not? ” asked Fred, who at times liked 
to hear George talk. 

“ Because a refined and educated woman who 
is emotional enough to fall in love with a — 
coachman — it requires no emotion to love a 
prince or a millionaire — and who is bold enough 
afterwards to marry him, will be almost certain 
later to have a second emotional attack in a new 
direction, which she will not be afraid to indulge. 
Then she may get the fever a third time, with the 
prognosis favorable, but liability to a relapse. 
If love, like the smallpox, occurred but once in 
12 


The Athlete 

the same individual, there would be fewer un- 
happy homes.” 

“ Suppose she marries a title,” Fred sug- 
gested. 

“ Why, then, she’ll get the title, her husband 
will get the money, and pretty women will get 
him.” 

“ She will get a divorce, then, I suppose? ” 

“ Maybe, and maybe not ; that depends on 
her temperament. Many have grounds for di- 
vorce, which they are careful not to poach on; 
they wink the other eye. Of course I am speak- 
ing generally of a particular class — ^the rich. 
Poor folks have no time for affinities nor infini- 
ties; definities keep them busy — But ta-ta, 
Fred. I’m off ; I have an engagement to-night.” 

“ With an affinity? ” Fred queried. 

“ Not on your life. No affinities nor divini- 
ties for me,” George growled as he disappeared. 


13 


CHAPTER II 


A CYNICAL PHILOSOPHER 

Fred Barry was the only son of a New York 
physician, whose connections were rather better 
than his worldly success. As Fred’s mother had 
died when he was a baby, he had grown to man- 
hood left pretty much to his own devices, which 
were not always good, and, indeed, had once 
brought him into serious trouble. He was now 
twenty-eight years old, and, as has been said be- 
fore, was employed as a reporter on a daily news- 
paper. While the life had coarsened him some- 
what, it had also stirred his wits, broadened his 
ideas and given him a rather reckless abandon of 
manner that, however it might jar the nerves of 
the ultra-refined, was not without charm. 

It was late afternoon when Fred started from 
the gymnasium. On the stoop he almost ran 
into a dark, good-looking young fellow who was 
coming up the steps. 


14 


A Cynical Philosopher 

“Hello, old man. How’s the rush?” ex- 
claimed the newcomer, putting out his hand. 

“ Nothing doing, Frank.” 

“ How’s Ida? ” 

“Hell!” The monosyllable was eloquent 
with disgusted meaning. 

“ It has often occurred to me,” the other ob- 
served, “ that your morals are easier than your 
temper — but then, you’re a reporter.” 

“ And I don’t see,” retorted Fred dryly, “ that 
your what-you-are-pleased-to-call ‘ morals ’ are 
particularly tight-fitting, and you are not even 
a reporter, simply because you’re too damned 
lazy to be anything.” 

Frank Holbrook laughed. “ Come, Freddy, 
don’t let us quarrel. Your lack of morality may 
strike me, but I don’t wish you to — you’re too 
cursed strong. And for heaven’s sake cheer up. 
I want you to come out and dine with me.” 

“ Where? ” 

“ Hartin’s.” 

“ Women? ” 

“ Not even a little one. But what is there 
about the women? The less one has to do with 
15 


The Short Cut 


them, the better one is off physically and finan- 
cially — and morally — I almost forgot that.” 

“ I enjoy talking with them,” said Fred. “A 
bright woman is always interesting; even a 
stupid one is — at times. One never grows tired 
of them, for no two are alike. If you meet a 
thousand, the thousand-and-first is sure to be to- 
tally different from any of the rest.” 

“ Exactly,” said Holbrook. “ One never gets 
tired of them. Who would get tired of a thou- 
sand-and-one women? I know I shouldn’t, pro- 
vided I could make a choice each day. But how 
about settling on one? Wouldn’t you get deadly 
tired of her if you couldn’t relieve the strain by 
occasional intercourse with some of the other 
thousand? ” 

‘‘ Perhaps — unless I found one who combined 
the virtues of all.” 

Holbrook shuddered. “ The Lord deliver me 
from any woman as virtuous as that,” he said 
solemnly. “ I’d rather be a Turk and keep a 
harem. ’Twould be more exciting. I imagine 
that a woman without faults would be like still 
champagne.” 


16 


A Cynical Philosopher 

“ Gas is better in wine than in women,” Fred 
observed dryly. 

By this the friends had come to Fourteenth 
Street, which, even at that early hour, was ablaze 
with flaming gas and electric signs. Concert 
halls, too, were in full blast, where inside could 
be seen men and women seated at tables drink- 
ing, the while enjoying the “ concert ” and one 
another’s company. Every now and again 
tawdry smirking women would flit from door- 
ways on the lookout for “ customers ” — and the 
police. But the chums had neither eyes nor ears 
for anyone but each other. 

For five years Frank Holbrook and Fred 
Barry had been almost inseparable, theirs being 
that rare affection which is born of mutual un- 
derstanding, like tastes and reciprocal sympa- 
thetic perceptions. Frank’s father, who was a 
wealthy stockbroker, had once thought to in- 
duce his son to share his own love for figures and 
finance; but he had failed. Frank had tried 
“ broking ” for a while, then given it up as a bad 
job. Nor had his efforts elsewhere been more 
successful. The business of money-making did 
17 


The Short Cut 


not appeal to him. More fortunate than most, 
however, the death of a rich maiden aunt, leaving 
a handsome competence to her “ dear nephew,” 
had instantly transformed a necessity into a 
mere pastime; so, after the will of the lamented 
deceased had been read, the “ pastime ” was im- 
mediately abandoned, and Frank became what 
he had long wished to be — a gentleman of 
leisure. Now, while he spent a great deal of 
money at that congenial occupation, truth com- 
pels us to state that he was rarely imprudent; 
nor must it be supposed that he was altogether 
idle, for, being passionately fond of literature, 
much of his time was spent profitably in reading, 
and he often wrote papers which were not infre- 
quently published. Withal he was a fine, well- 
built, sweet-tempered fellow who, in spite of con- 
siderable spoiling, made friends with whomever 
he came in contact. 

When the men arrived at the popular hostelry 
they found that not only were there no seats to 
be had in the dining rooms, but that several 
parties were waiting for the first vacant tables. 
The two, therefore, sought a secluded corner in 
18 


A Cynical Philosopher 

the parlor and contentedly sat down to continue 
a discussion. 

“ I guess you haven’t read your Schopen- 
hauer,” said Holbrook. “You know he abhorred 
women.” 

“ Yes, I know,” assented Fred; “ and what he 
says of them is in the main part true. Their 
sense of morality is vague, and their consummate 
art in persuading themselves that whatever they 
wish to do is right is truly wonderful. A wom- 
an’s conscience rarely troubles her after she has 
once taken the plunge. Take an immoral mar- 
ried woman. Before she is actually untrue to 
her husband she will coquette with a lover for 
weeks, often months; she goes through a lot of 
mock heroics, swearing that she will never, never 
do anything wrong because she is so fond of 
poor, dear John. But, pshaw! It’s all acting. 
At no time has she the remotest idea of not yield- 
ing. She merely wishes to impress on her lover’s 
mind the fact that she is a thoroughly good wom- 
an fighting with the whole strength of her soul to 
resist him ; and thus, by letting him see how terri- 
ble is the struggle, she doles out the subtlest and 
19 


The Short Cut 


most devilish flattery. And Anally, when she does 
capitulate, it is in such a way as to lead him to 
think that it is he, the stronger, who has overcome 
her, despite all her protestations and prayers. 
Then, should he treat her with scorn and re- 
proaches later on, she has the hackneyed phrases: 

‘ It’s all your fault,’ or, ‘ You made me what I 
am.’ ” 

“ What a cynical young old reprobate you 
are! And what horrible ideas you have about 
women! At any rate, what you have said ap- 
plies only to a certain class.” 

“ The class is large,” Barry remarked quietly. 
“ Of course I don’t mean to say that there are 
no good women; only that I haven’t seen very 
many.” 

Holbrook was silent, remembering that his 
friend had neither mother nor sister. Presently 
he said: “ And yet you like them? ” 

“Yes, because they interest me. To study 
them is a liberal education in psychics. But 
let me finish. When a woman once enters the 
waters of deceit, she takes to it like a duck; 
it’s her proper element. The farther she ad- 
20 


A Cynical Philosopher 

vances, the deeper is she submerged; but that 
bothers her little, as she soon becomes an expert 
in the art of lying to conceal her — irregularities. 
Thanks to her innate proclivities, it is a small 
matter for her to blind the eyes of her husband 
by flattery and cajolery, and at the same time to 
ease her conscience by finding hitherto unnoticed 
faults in him. She discovers that he is cold, that 
he neglects her to visit his club; she remembers 
that he meanly refused to buy her a new hat, and 
so on. Besides, his voice is loud, he walks heav- 
ily, or he laughs too much. In such pitiful 
fashion she extenuates her transgression to her 
entire satisfaction. Somehow she forgets the 
time when her groom was affectionate, and she 
used to tell him not to bother her, that he disar- 
ranged her dress or mussed her hair, that she 
wished he would go out, and that men were a 
nuisance around a house anyway. Do you know, 
the sweetest balm to a bad woman’s conscience — 
if she has such a thing — is to believe her husband 
to be worse than she is. Nothing more irritates 
her than to think that he is her superior.” 

Holbrook regarded his chum with mild 
21 


The Short Cut 


amazement, unaware that the latter had just 
spoken from his own bitter experience. “ Your 
views seem to me a trifle doctrinaire,” he ob- 
served; “ and more special than general.” Then, 
abruptly: “ Were you ever married? ” 

Barry reddened painfully as he answered: 
“ Yes; but it didn’t turn out well, and I got a 
divorce. But pardon me, old man, I’d rather 
not talk about it.” 

Fred’s marriage, when he was a boy of eigh- 
teen years, had been one of the serious troubles 
in which his father had loyally stood by him. He 
met her at a dance — to which he should not have 
gone. Exquisitely pretty, with dark passionate 
eyes, she completely turned his head. The se- 
quel was a secret marriage. To do the girl jus- 
tice, she loved him — at first; but later she devel- 
oped an inordinate fondness for expensive jew- 
elry and extravagant clothes. Fred, then only 
a boy, earned but a meager salary, all which he 
gave to his wife, she doling out each day a few 
cents for his luncheon and car fare. Soon, how- 
ever, her desire for money as a means of satisfy- 
22 


A Cynical Philosopher 

ing her egregious vanity became an all-absorbent 
passion. Beautiful, many men stood near ready 
to buy her, till one day she calmly sold herself to 
him who she thought would give her the hand- 
somest presents and the largest allowance. To- 
ward Fred she grew cold, and accused him of acts 
of infidelity — what she herself was guilty of. 
But soon came the end. Fred had long suspected 
that his wife was deceiving him; so he watched 
her. 

One afternoon he purposely went to his wife’s 
flat three hours earlier than usual. After letting 
himself in with a key, he walked softly upstairs. 
Her apartment was on the second floor. Just 
outside the front door, which opened into the 
parlor, he paused and listened intently, but heard 
no sound save the tick-tack of his watch. He 
slipped a key into the lock, turned it and entered, 
shutting the door noiselessly behind him. A 
faint murmuring sound of voices now reached 
his ears. Evidently his wife was in the kitchen 
talking with some one. Next the parlor was 
their bedroom, in which was a large closet. Fred 
started to walk through this room, intending to 
23 


The Short Cut 


go into the kitchen to see who was with his wife, 
when he heard a chair pushed back, and his wife’s 
voice raised in remonstrance: “Please don’t. 
There — don’t come near me!” A slight scuffle 
followed, doors were opened and slammed, and 
then Mildred Barry, with flushed cheeks and 
sparkling eyes, but looking slightly disheveled, 
burst into the bedroom, followed by a youth 
whose smooth hair and generally well-groomed 
appearance contrasted strangely with the 
flerce excitement of his manner. Meanwhile 
Fred had stepped into the closet and shut the 
door. 

“ I tell you, Mildred, you can’t fool with me,” 
shouted the man. “ Why did you invite me to 
call? ” 

“ I did not invite you to kiss me,” protested 
Mildred. 

“ What man with a drop of blood in him 
could talk to you for flve minutes without want- 
ing to ” 

“ I wished to have a little fun with you,” she 
broke in. 

“ At ^ly expense.” 


24 


A Cynical Philosopher 

“Expense? Why — you haven’t bought any- 
thing.” 

“ Isn’t my time worth anything? ” 

“ Am I not worth your time? ” 

“ Yes, by God, you are! ” he cried, springing 
forward and seizing Mildred by the hand. 

At this jimcture Barry could hardly restrain 
himself ; but a desire to see just how far his wife 
would allow the fellow to go kept him quiet. 

Mildred wrenched her hand free, sank into 
a chair and wept. “ Oh, why won’t you let 
me alone? ” she wailed. “ I love my husband, 
I belong to the Church, and I’m a good 
Christian.” 

“ Don’t you love me a httle too? You ought 
to, if you’re a good Christian.” He was kneel- 
ing now, with both his arms around her. 

“You must never see me again. It isn’t 
right,” she murmured. 

“ Kiss me.” 

“ I’ll give you just one,” she said with pretty 
reluctance. 

He had given her a dozen in exchange, and 
Fred, unable to restrain himself longer, was 
25 


The Short Cut 

about to burst into the room, when a loud knock 
sounded on the front door. 

The sudden interruption instantly changed 
Mildred’s complaisance to indignation. She 
freed herself quickly and said haughtily: ‘‘ How 
dare you — insult me? That’s my husband!” 

“ Open this door, Mildred, or I’ll force it,” 
cried a man’s voice. 

“My God, it’s Ernest!” exclaimed the girl, 
now thoroughly dismayed. 

A moment later “ Ernest ” threw his weight 
against the door; there was a splintering of 
wood as the lock was forced from its fastening, 
and, following the door, which flew open, floun- 
dered a huge man, who spluttered out: “ Who’s 
this scoundrel here, you deceitful trollop? ” 

Mildred was crying tears of real vexation 
now. “ Oh, Ernest,” she sobbed. “ This man 
forced his way in here, and I haven’t been able 
to get rid of him.” 

“ That’s a lie! You invited him to come and 
see you.” It was Fred Barry who spoke. He 
had come out unobserved from the closet, and 
now stood, with white face and hands twitching 
26 


A Cynical Philosopher 

nervously, near the center of the room. Then, 
turning fiercely on Ernest: “ You should know, 
blackguard, that a woman who deceives one man 
will deceive another; and that a cur who steals 
another man’s wife gets his just deserts when 
a second cur steals the woman he has ruined. 
Neither of you men has sufficient manhood to 
protect this woman. Either of you would in a 
short time desert her; and if you did not, she 
would be untrue to you, as she has been untrue to 
me.” 

An earthquake would have relieved the tense- 
ness of the next few moments; but, like most 
things badly wanted, it did not come. None of 
the accused dared to speak. 

Barry approached Ernest, who stood staring 
stupidly, and commanded him to give him one 
of his cards; but so dazed was the man that he 
did not move. This so incensed Fred that he 
shot out his left fist, which landed with such force 
on the other’s chest that he fell, a nerveless 
heap, to the floor. “ Your card,” he repeated 
brutally. 

The man, thoroughly cowed, searched trem- 
27 


The Short Cut 


blingly through his pockets, and finally extracted 
a card, which he meekly handed to his tormentor. 

“ I want yours now,” said Barry, addressing 
his wife’s other “ friend.” 

But that astute gentleman complied immedi- 
ately with the request. He thought, and not 
without reason, that a blow, such as had just been 
given to his stouter rival, would have killed him. 

“ Now get out of here — all of you, unless you 
prefer being thrown out.” Then, as the three 
slunk away, Barry shouted after them: “ I’ll 
have each of you gentlemen up as a witness 
against the other; and you both will have to tes- 
tify against your common sweetheart.” 

Fred then went immediately to his father and 
confessed his miserable secret and its wretched 
outcome. 

Dr. Barry was astounded. He had known 
that Fred was in the habit of staying out late 
nights, often until morning, but as the boy had 
many relatives in the city he had supposed he 
stopped with them; at all events, he had not sus- 
pected any entanglement. Too sensible a man, 
however, to waste time in useless upbraiding, he 
28 


A Cynical Philosopher 

merely questioned his son closely in regard to his 
wife’s conduct, and then dismissed him, doubtless 
considering the boy’s hard experience sufficient 
punishment. 

Fred never saw his tormentress from that day 
when he had learned her deceit; and some months 
afterward, with the aid and advice of his father, 
he obtained an absolute divorce. 


29 


CHAPTER III 


TWO STORIES AND A NEAR TRAGEDY 

We return now to the chums, who were still 
waiting for an opportunity to dine. That came 
finally in the shape of the head waiter, who smil- 
ingly approached to conduct them to a table. 

About them fashionably gowned women were 
uttering sweet nothings to somberly garbed men. 
As the evening advanced, corks popped, eyes 
grew brighter, and voices merrier. An observer 
could have readily inferred from the eagerness 
with which the women responded to the defer- 
ence of their cavaliers that many of the former 
were not with their husbands. 

Fred regarded the scene cynically; then his 
face softened. “ Poor women! ” he murmured. 
“ Sometimes I feel rather sorry for them, for, 
after all, they’re no worse nor not so bad as the 
men.” 

“What an inconsistent fellow you are!” ex- 
30 


Two Stories and a Near Tragedy 

claimed Holbrook. “ A short time since you 
called them liars and hypocrites.” 

‘‘ And I still think they are,” said Barry easily; 
“ but I don’t blame them, because there are satis- 
factory philosophical and physiological reasons 
why they are so.” 

Ah ! — I suppose you will argue now that it is 
right for a woman to lie.” 

“ Not right, but proper to the genus,” Fred 
corrected. “ Is woman responsible for wicked 
conditions that she has not created? ” 

“ Who is responsible? ” 

“Primarily, God; secondarily, man.” 

“ Would you criticise God? ” 

“ I’m not that kind of a fool. But to say that 
God is responsible for wickedness is not a criti- 
cism. It is a fact, however, for, if God created 
the world, and the world is wicked, God is re- 
sponsible, as, being omnipotent, He could just as 
easily have made a good one.” 

“ God cannot be responsible,” Frank insisted 
shrewdly. “ The word means answerable, and to 
whom can the All-powerful be answerable ex- 
cepting to Himself? ” 


31 


The Short Cut 


Fred smoked for a while in silence; then gave 
in gracefully. ‘‘ I stand corrected,” he admitted. 
“ Let us say, then, simply that God has created 
the conditions under which we poor mortals labor 
on this earth. Now, there is no doubt that the 
world is wicked, and from our point of view such 
a condition is deplorable; but we should not for- 
get that wickedness serves a most useful purpose: 
It causes misery that brings us nearer to Christ; 
it ennobles character and increases our capacity 
for happiness which, without its antithesis misery, 
probably could not exist, except as a kind of 
negative quality, hard to realize. In short, were 
we well off, we wouldn’t know it. Even a mim- 
derer condemned to electrocution has his moment 
of happiness when his sentence is unexpectedly 
commuted to life imprisonment.” 

“ Hold on,” interrupted Frank. “ Your 
tongue has a great trick of running away with 
you. How about the philosophical and physio- 
logical reasons why women lie? And what of the 
men? Don’t they lie, too? ” 

“Yes,” replied Fred, “men lie; but not so 
often, and I can prove it. In the first place, the 
32 


Two Stories and a Near Tragedy 

Creator has made woman comparatively weak 
and dependent, whereas He has made man strong 
and independent. For self-preservation, there- 
fore, man relies chiefly on his strength, while 
woman, for her preservation, must depend almost 
wholly upon her subtlety and cunning. Man, 
being essentially the aggressive animal, in order 
to gratify his strong passions, is constantly pur- 
suing, bullying, and striving by brute force to 
conquer woman, who, in her turn, struggles just 
as heroically to preserve her honor, using weap- 
ons which are necessarily peculiar to herself : She 
coquettes, fascinates, and at last deceives that she 
may escape. 

“ Now, in accordance with the physiological 
principle that function makes structure, or that 
use produces development, it follows that this 
constant employment of cunning — which is only 
another name for deceit — on the part of woman, 
through countless generations, has resulted in a 
much greater growth of that faculty in her than 
in man. Hence, she is of necessity the more 
robust liar of the two. Quod erat demonstran- 
dum. 


33 


The Short Cut 


“ If it won’t bore you, I’ll relate the experience 
of a young girl who was cashier in a hotel of this 
city.” 

“ Waiter, more coffee and cigars,” said Hol- 
brook, settling himself more comfortably. 

“ She was pretty, of course,” Fred began; 
“ also bright and attractive in manner, and, 
necessarily, she saw a great number of men, many 
of whom tried to ‘ win her.’ Their favorite bait 
was to invite her to a theater, which meant sup- 
per afterwards, wine, and later — But this girl 
was virtuous, and wished to remain so ; she, there- 
fore, resisted their allurements. One man, how- 
ever, became so persistent that she could not get 
rid of him, and on a certain evening, in sheer 
self-defense, she promised to accompany him to a 
play. But she didn’t go. She pretended enthu- 
siasm, and succeeded in gaining enough of his 
confidence to make him wait for her while she 
should go upstairs to get something she said she 
had forgotten. Then, when safe out of sight, she 
slipped through a back door, and did not return 
that night. The next morning her disappointed 
suitor cursed her and left the hotel. ^ 


34 


Two Stories and a Near Tragedy 

“ But her experience with the drummer was 
the worst. This particular brute hailed from 
Philadelphia ” 

“ Pardon me, old man,” broke in Holbrook, 
regarding his friend quizzically, “ but you must 
have known this girl pretty intimately yourself 
to have had all these reminiscences from her. You 
say she wcls virtuous. May I ask whether she re- 
mained in that blissful condition? ” 

“ Frank, you’re an ass! What has her present 
virtue to do with her past adventures? ” 

“ Why, nothing, of course. Go on.” 

“ The drummer,” Fred continued, “ had en- 
gaged a room which happened to be on the floor 
below that of the pretty cashier. Quite naturally, 
he soon made her acquaintance, and, within a 
week, the two became fairly familiar. One day 
she loaned him a silver pencil, which he promised 
to return the next morning. He apparently for- 
got to do so. 

“ The following night at eight o’clock, Grace 
— that was her name — locked the desk and the 
various drawers in the office, then started up- 
stairs to bring the keys to the manager. She was 
35 


The Short Cut 


obliged to pass the drummer’s room. When just 
opposite his door, it suddenly opened and the 
drummer appeared, holding out her pencil. 

“ ‘ Here, Grace,’ he called, ‘ is your silver pen- 
cil; take it.’ 

“ Suspecting nothing, she approached more 
nearly, with her hand extended for her property, 
when, quick as a flash, he seized her wrist, pulled 
her into the room, and shut the door, which he 
immediately locked, and then dropped the key 
into his pocket. So swiftly was this done that the 
girl was too dazed to cry out, or to make any 
considerable resistance. For a moment she was 
paralyzed with fright; then her wits returned, 
and she began to think how she could best get out 
of her awful predicament. She looked at him. 
His face was deadly pale, and his lips wore a sin- 
ister smile. She thought she detected the sickish 
odor of chloroform, and instantly realized that 
if she should cry out he might drug her and ac- 
complish his purpose. The drummer approached 
with his cruel sensual mouth set, threw both his 
arms aroimd her and dragged her toward a couch. 

“ She glanced up at him with a timid tender 
36 


Two Stones and a Near Tragedy 

smile. ‘ What are you trying to do? ’ she asked 
gently. ‘ Why are you so rough? Oh, you hurt 
me! And I thought you so good! ’ 

Forgive me,’ he murmured. ‘ I didn’t mean 
to hurt you; but I love you, and I want you to 
love me.’ 

How can I love you when you’re so fierce? ’ 
she answered. ‘Now be a good boy for a few 
minutes, and listen to me. I have all the keys of 
the office, and I must give them to the manager 
right away. He is waiting for them. Surely 
you don’t wish me to lose my position? Let me 
run upstairs, and I promise faithfully to be back 
in — three minutes.’ 

“ Her eyes met his steadily, but he looked in- 
credulous. 

“‘Not on your life,’ he said cynically; ‘I’m 
not so green; I’ve been there before. If once you 
get out, you won’t come back.’ 

“ ‘ Haven’t I given you my word? ’ she cried 
with a great show of indignation. Then, desper- 
ate lest she should not escape, she continued pas- 
sionately: ‘ Cannot you see that I love you? Do 
you think, if I did not love you, I would allow 
37 


The Short Cut 

you to pull me into your room and to keep me 
here? ’ 

“ The drummer released her. By flattering 
his vanity, she had conquered. He took the key 
out of his pocket and unlocked the door. ‘ Go,’ 
he said quietly, ‘ and return as soon as possible. 
I trust you. Forgive me for not believing you 
at first ; but, you know ’ — he smiled faintly — 
‘ women are deceivers ever.’ 

“ ‘ Don’t worry ; wait for me,’ she cried out 
happily; and she flew from the room like a wild 
bird from its snare. 

“ And now, Frank, we’ve finished our 
coffee, and I’ve finished my story; for it’s hardly 
necessary to add that the bird never came 
back.” 

“ The ethics of that tale would be a hard nut 
for a psychologist,” commented Frank. “ Grace 
was certainly an accomplished liar and an admira- 
ble hypocrite, and I must say she utilized her 
talents most skilfully against the other’s brute 
force. I suppose, after all, that the brutality of 
men accounts much for the shiftiness of the 
women.” 


38 


Two Stories and a Near Tragedy 

“Not a doubt of it — But hello! What’s 
up?” 

“ Oh, the old story,” Frank drawled, “ some 
man has been ogling a pretty woman who hap- 
pens to be with her husband. I’ve been watching 
the game, while listening to your stories.” 

Two tables from where our friends were sit- 
ting, a tall, thin youth was dining tete-a-tete 
with a petite blonde ; and near the couple, but on 
the other side of the narrow room, a red, moon- 
faced man, with a comfortable paunch, was, by 
significant gestures and an occasional lifting of 
the eyebrows, trying hard to attract the blonde’s 
attention, while ostensibly he sipped a cordial 
and smoked. Eventually she did notice him; but 
so did her husband and several others. 

“ You Jackanapes,” shouted the enraged Bene- 
dict, “ how dare you insult my wife before my 
face! I’ll teach you not to make a fool of me\ ” 
He started from his chair, and, as he approached 
his annoyer, Fred saw his right hand go to his 
hip pocket. 

In a moment Barry was beside him, and, after 
a brief struggle, had wrenched from his fingers 
39 


The Short Cut 


a “ gun,” which, as he found later, was fully 
loaded with ball cartridges. 

“ You are a fool,” Fred roared, flinging the 
would-be assassin back into his chair, where he 
remained crumpled like a piece of collapsed hose 
pipe. Then he added contemptuously : “ When 
you commit murder have a weightier reason for it 
than a ‘ light ’ woman.” 

By this time the diners were in an uproar, 
and the waiters were scurrying every way to no- 
where. Presently the proprietor of the place in- 
formed Fred that he had telephoned for the 
police. 

“ Better telephone again,” said Barry, “ and 
tell them not to come.’' 

“ Why? ” cried the man excitedly. “ That 
man ” — pointing to the trouble maker — “ he cre- 
ate a deesturbance in my place; he should be ar- 
restaid.” 

“ There is no disturbance now,” Fred remarked 
quietly; “ but there’ll be another row if the police 
come.” 

“ Mayb^ you are right,” the proprietor ad- 
mitted dubiously. “ Here you, Henri, telephone 
40 


Two Stories and a Near Tragedy 

headquarters to nevaire mind. And, now, you 
people go avay from here kveek! ” 

The first cause of the disturbance obeyed with 
alacrity, while the lean individual straightened up 
and pointed an accusing finger at his wife, who 
regarded him defiantly. “ Zhentlemen,” he said 
thickly, addressing the group which had gathered 
around him, ‘‘ you shee there a deceitful wom- 
ansh; but don’t look’t her — ^look’t your womansh 
— they’re ash deceitful she ish. Sh’ told me 
sh’ated that mansh, rid’culed ’m to me; then 
wrote ’m love letters — found one’t home. Did 
she break down’n confessh? No, shir; shwore 
sh’ wrote ’t long ’go when sh’ thought sh’ liked 
h’m; that now sh’ deshpised ’m ’n’ loved me — oh, 
sho mush! Pulled wool over m’ eyes. Zhentle- 
men ” — he paused; then continued with drunken 
solemnity; “ Don’t never marry. Sure t’ regret 
’t if you do. Womensh a’ right when they’re 
shtrange. Soon’s you know ’m you do’ want 
’em; and when th’ know you, th’ do’ want you. 
Mensh and womensh a’ways want womensh and 
mensh shtrange. That’s it; th’ want ’em 
shtrange. Marry cold womansh ’n’ you’ll look 
41 


The Short Cut 


for warm womansh; marry warm womansh ’n’ 
she’ll look for warm mansh. Th’ loving kind’ll 
love you ’n’ ’nother feller ” 

Here the speaker’s maudlin philosophy was in- 
terrupted by cries of: “ Put him out.” — “ We’ve 
had enough,” etc.; and the proprietor, who had 
now lost all patience, yanked the fellow to his 
feet and hustled him out, his wife following him. 

“ Well,” said Fred, after he and his chum had 
again seated themselves at their table, “what 
shall we do to-night? ” 

“ The Tenderloin,” said Frank lazily. “ A 
study in low life might prove interesting. We’ll 
take in some joints on Twenty-ninth Street, and 
wind up at the Haymarket.” 


42 


CHAPTER IV 


AN EVENING IN THE TENDERLOIN 

A HALF hour later the young men were seated 
in a notorious resort, one of the great hearts of 
the Tenderloin; a kind of pumping station that 
first filled Vice with bad whiskey, then belched 
her into the gutter to circulate as a great flood to 
engulf the unwary. 

Here was indeed Zola’s “ La Bete Humaine ” 
in all its awful inglory. Here was courtesy ab- 
surd, shame shameless, and indecency rampant. 
Both sexes, drinking and smoking, sprawled at 
tables, from which, at regular intervals, magnifi- 
cently caparisoned females would arise, and, 
ogling the males, strut about like purchasable 
mares put up at auction. Near the doorway a 
group was exchanging coarse jokes and mocking 
repartee. Later the place became still more ani- 
mated. Derisive drunken laughter was now con- 
tinuous and quaqua-versal, the shrill shouts of the 
43 


The Short Cut 


lighter-lunged mingling with deep-toned guf- 
faws in indescribable discord; and, sporadically, 
the medley of Bacchic noises was augmented by 
the cacophony of a ribald song shrieked by an 
aged siren to the rasping accompaniment of a 
cracked piano. 

It was after one of these ‘‘ songs ” that two 
young girls approached to where Barry and Hol- 
brook were sitting. 

“ Hello, sweetheart,” said one, addressing 
Barry. “ Ain’t you goin’ to treat? ” 

“ Y-es, I suppose so,” Fred answered re- 
signedly. “ Sit down.” 

Both dropped languidly into chairs, and 
promptly ordered a waiter — ^who appeared in- 
stantly — ^to fetch two cocktails. In a marvel- 
lously short time the drinks were brought, when 
the girls, with a “ Here’s luck,” immediately emp- 
tied their glasses, and as quickly sent them away 
to be refilled — ^this time without asking permis- 
sion. 

“ She’s a beautiful singer,” remarked the girl 
who had first spoken. 

“ To agree with you,” drawled Holbrook, 
44 


An Evening in the Tenderloin 

“ would require as elastic a stretch of the truth 
as to say she sang beautifully.” 

The Bacchante stared dully, then observed: 
‘‘ This is a rum joint, ain’t it? The stink and 
noise make my head ache. I wanter git out in 
the air.” Then, with a smile which she tried hard 
to render attractive, she turned appealingly to 
Barry. “ Say, dear,” she whispered, “ don’t you 
wanter come out an’ have a good time? ” 

Fred made a gesture of disgust. That this 
creature could imagine that anyone could have 
a ‘‘ good time ” with her passed his comprehen- 
sion. Then he looked at her face, pathetic in its 
plainness, and wondered how she managed to eke 
out a living from her disreputable trade; but per- 
haps she didn’t ; she appeared half starved. 

“ I see you don’t wanter go.” Her wheedling 
tone had changed to one of passionate despair. 
“ You don’t like me, or mebbe you ain’t got no 
money. That’s the old gag— no money. I ain’t 
had anyone in a week. And a body’s got ter live, 
hasn’t she? I’ve got ter pay rent, and I’ve got 
ter eat; but bus’ness is gettin’ so bad now’days 
that half the time I ain’t got the price of a meal.” 

45 


The Short Cut 


Her complainings ended abruptly in a kind of 
choking sob; then her face hardened and she 
gazed straight ahead with hopeless, staring eyes. 
Perhaps, at that moment, amid the hubbub of 
clinking glasses and coarse drunken revelry, her 
dull brain realized the utter futility and shame- 
fulness of her life. To what did it all lead — 
Hell? But wasn’t this Hell — pangs of hunger, 
often bitter cold, and always bitterer regrets? 
And when youth had gone, leaving behind a bat- 
tered hulk blazed with the indelible marks of dis- 
sipation — what then? Starvation, or another 
soul added to the ranks of palsied women who 
hold out begging hands to prosperous passers-by, 
or who sit in mud-gutters grinding wheezy little 
organs — ^women whose very wretchedness is their 
mainstay and stock in trade. 

“ Why don’t you try and find work? ” asked 
Fred gently, becoming conscious of a wave of 
pity for this poor young outcast. 

She laughed in scorn. “ Work ! ” she repeated. 
“ I can’t work. Sometimes I’ve tried; but I can’t 
stand at one o’ them counters froni eight in the 
mornin’ till six at night. There’s none o’ the 
46 


An Evening in the Tenderloin 

girls kin work much of any account after leadin’ 
this life; the sand sorter runs out o’ them.” 

All at once her old recklessness came back, and 
she rose from her chair, crying airily: “Well, 
ta-ta, boys, if there’s nothin’ doin’. I’ve got ter 
git a move on. But what makes yer friend so 
quiet? ” she added, with a mocking glance at 
Holbrook. “ I guess he’s ruminatin’ on the evil 
in the world, eh? ” 

“ Mebbe he’d like to try some of it,” put in the 
second girl, speaking for the first time. 

Holbrook, immoved, puffed nonchalantly at 
his cigar and preserved a dignified silence. 

Barry fumbled in his pocket and beckoned to 
the girl with whom he had been talking. She 
ran over to him eagerly, thinking he had changed 
his mind about going out; and she was sure of 
it when he slipped a crisp ten-dollar bill into her 
hand. “ That will help pay your rent,” he said 
kindly. 

“ Ain’t you cornin’ out with me? ” she asked. 

“ No; not to-night. I’m tired.” 

A rush of tears flooded the girl’s eyes. 
“ You’re awful good,” she said huskily. “ I was 
47 


The Short Cut 


near desprit. You’re what I call a real gentle- 
man. If ever you want me, you kin always find 
me here.” 

“ But I don’t wish to find you here,” said Fred 
quickly, determined to bring this fellow-creature, 
who was not yet altogether bad, to a better mode 
of life. Then, realizing that in her present soft- 
ened condition a simple request might accom- 
plish more than a long exhortation, he continued 
firmly: “ You must promise me to look for em- 
ployment, and that you will do your best to stick 
to it. Please give me your card so I shall be able 
to see how you get along.” 

For an instant she hesitated; then her hand 
slowly sought the pocket of her little black jack- 
et, from which she extracted a small printed card 
bearing the name Jessie Ferguson, and an ad- 
dress in the lower left corner. 

“ Take it,” she said impulsively. “ I promise 
— everything.” A mute look of such gratitude, 
of which only the friendless are capable when they 
meet with interest and sympathy, and she passed 
out into darkness — for her the dawn of a new 
life. 


48 


An Evening in the Tenderloin 

‘‘ That’s the most remarkable thing I ever 
saw,” said Holbrook, removing the cigar from 
his mouth and drawing a long breath — “ for you 
to make a convert. But I imagine your unbeau- 
tiful yrotegee was already heartily sick of her 
existence, and needed only the proverbial straw. 
Maybe she’ll come back, though. You know 
these women are so infernally lazy that they hate 
work as the devil hates holy water. Then, again, 
perhaps it was all a bluff.” 

“ I hope not,” said Barry seriously. “ She 
seemed sincere, and she actually cried with grati- 
tude.” 

“Pshaw! What of that? Such women can 
bubble tears as readily as Alice’s crocodile — By 
the way, that other beast’s gone. I presume she’s 
looking for easier game.” 

“ Why are you so hard? Don’t you think 
there’s any good in these women? ” 

“No. A little of goodness may be sprinkled 
on most persons, but it misses these animals — one 
cannot call them human. If I had my way they 
would all be thrown into garbage scows, towed 
out to sea, and dumped.” 

49 


The Short Cut 


“ You’re an extremist. They’re not so bad as 
they’re painted.” 

“ They’re painted pretty bad, old man.” 

“ Of course, they are bad in some ways,” Fred 
argued; “ but isn’t that equally true of everyone? 
Badness takes different forms. Are not virtuous 
women bad when they refuse to assist or to for- 
give those of their own sex who have sinned 
mainly because their hearts were soft and their 
natimes passionate? Assuredly, they do their 
share toward making these poor creatures what 
they are.” 

‘‘ Perhaps; but that is as it should be: The vir- 
tuous being merely the chastising agents in the 
inevitable law of sin and punishment.” 

“ Such a law is none the less harsh; and when 
one considers that these unfortunate pariahs have 
been first knocked down by men, only to be 
jumped upon and held down by the women, one 
cannot help pitying them. It is the selfish woman 
who best takes care of self, and when it is for her 
own interest, it is she who most easily remains vir- 
tuous. But, on the other hand, there are women 
who are not sufficiently selfish to calculate ; and 
50 


An Evening in the Tenderloin 

there are some with hearts so generous that their 
only thought of self is self-sacrifice. When such 
love, they go to all lengths, blindly, unreasoning- 
ly, and at times sublimely. For this, their usual 
reward is desertion, after which, unless they pos- 
sess energy and character, they go on the town. 
I firmly believe, when you come right down to it, 
that drink and sheer laziness, together with a 
haunting idea that by being promiscuous they 
will some day run across a rich man who will 
support them in ease, are among the chief causes 
of their downfall. And yet, the worst of these 
women have their good points, one of which is 
charity, that St. Paul said is the greatest of all 
virtues. I remember, on a bitter cold night, see- 
ing one take the coat oif her back to put it over 
the shoulders of a poor outcast like herself — 
But, good God, Frank, look at that beautiful 
woman who has just come in! She’s a wonder! 
The man with her seems like a decent fellow, too, 
— possibly some lawyer or a doctor.” 

“ Ah! ” sighed Holbrook; “ that’s you all over, 
Fred. One minute nobly putting a homely 
woman on the highroad to virtue; the next, ar- 
51 


The Short Cut 


dently coveting a pretty one for yourself. She’s 
on the town, same as the other.” 

“ I don’t believe it,” said Fred hotly. “ Al- 
though I’ll admit she’s probably kept, else she 
wouldn’t be here. But that’s far different from 
being promiscuous. Ugh! I don’t see how you 
can compare her with a beast that goes out with 
any Tom or Dick for money 1 And what if she is 
kept? Isn’t a woman who lives with the man 
she loves, even though no minister has mumbled 
over her, deserving of more respect than one who 
contracts a mariage de convenance'i Yet Society 
ostracizes the former, while it receives the latter 
with open arms. To my mind, marriage with- 
out love is a prostitution, in which the purchasing 
price is high and the terms of the contract long. 
A man buys with a few dollars for a few hours 
the love of a street woman; a prince buys with 
his title the love of an heiress, till death — or di- 
vorce — do them part. Both contracts are pur- 
chase and sale ; widely different conventionally, I 
grant you, but morally they are equally degrad- 
ing.” 

Frank looked at his friend with genuine admi- 
52 


An Evening in the Tenderloin 

ration. “ By Jove, Fred, you’re delicious! So 
long as your brain is cool you are capable, at 
times, of a really good action, but as soon as that 
organ gets the least bit excited your ingenuity in 
enthroning the idol of its desires would excite the 
envy of a prestidigitateur. You talk about 
‘ mariage de convenance ’ — did it never occur to 
you that two unmarried persons might live to- 
gether for convenience? How do you know that 
that — angel is in love? ” 

“ How do you know she isn’t? ” 

Holbrook sighed. “ You’re absolutely hope- 
less.” 

“ Oh, no; I hope to meet that girl.” 

“ Incorrigible.” 

“I’ll get acquainted with her if I have to stay 
here all night.” 

“Why, you can’t, idiot. She’s with some 
one.” 

“ He may leave her.” 

“ Not if he has sense.” 

“ Oh! You admire her yourself? ” 

“ Of course,” said Holbrook. “ She’s hand- 
some enough — What magnificent diamonds 
53 


The Short Cut 


she has! What hair! And those eyes would in- 
flame a saint, which, God knows, I’m not.” He 
rose from his chair. “ Well, good night. If I 
stay longer. I’ll be tempted to punch that fellow’s 
head and run away with his Venus — in a cab.” 

After Frank had gone, Fred’s eyes again 
sought the beautiful girl, who was now seated a 
short distance off. She was talking with her com- 
panion, and appeared not to notice him; nor did 
she once glance in his direction while she re- 
mained. Soon both stood up and moved toward 
the door, her escort slightly in advance. 

Barry was experiencing a sense of disappoint- 
ment, when, almost at the entrance, the girl 
turned quickly and bestowed upon him a bewil- 
dering smile. 

Scarcely conscious of what he was doing, 
Barry sprang to his feet and followed her. 

Outside she and her companion turned toward 
Broadway, walked a few paces, and stopped. 
The man was apparently urging her to go some- 
where ; but she wouldn’t budge. Presently he be- 
came very angry and tried to force her in the 
direction he wished to go. 

54 


An Evening in the Tenderloin 

This was more than Fred Barry could stand. 
He strode forward, seized the man by the nape 
of the neck, and jerked him back. “ What do 
you mean, you coward,” he said fiercely, “ by put- 
ting your hand on this lady? ” 

But the lady’s escort could not speak; rage and 
Barry’s grip choked him. For a few minutes he 
struggled like a cat caught by a bulldog; then 
Fred felt his victim’s muscles relax, and he flung 
him to the sidewalk, where he lay limp and seem- 
ingly lifeless. 

“ Now, madame,” said Barry, raising his hat 
and turning toward the beauty, who was too 
frightened to move or even to cry out, “ you may 
go where you please.” 

“But you don’t; you come with me,” said a 
gruff voice. 

Fred looked around coolly and saw a police- 
man standing beside him. He knew him — he 
knew most of the patrolmen in the Tenderloin. 
“ Hello, Jim,” he said quietly. 

The enforcer of law and order looked surprised, 
and then pleased. He had not at first recognized 
Fred Barry as the man who, in a newspaper 
55 


The Short Cut 


story, had generously exaggerated his — Jim’s — 
prowess and bravery in stopping a runaway. 
“ How de do, Mr. Barry,” he said respectfully. 
‘‘ What’s the trouble? ” 

“ That brute laid his hands on a lady, and I 
took her part — that’s all,” replied Fred simply. 
“ She seemed greatly upset about something, 
and ” 

“ So you upsot him,” interrupted the police- 
man, with a grin. “ Jes’ so. But where’s the 
lady? ” 

“ That’s what I’d like to know,” said Fred, dis- 
consolately looking around. “ She seems to have 
disappeared.” 

“ And he has, too,” said Jim dryly. Then, 
with a deep breath of relief : “ But I guess he 
wa’n’t much hiu-t. What did ye do to the feller, 
anyway? ” 

“ I only choked him a little,” said Barry apolo- 
getically. 

“ Waal,” drawled Jim, who was a bit of a 
wag, ‘‘ I’ve heerd tell that a little lamin’ was a 
dangerous thing; an’ mebbe a little chokin’ is, 
too. Did ye know the gal? ” 

56 


An Evening in the Tenderloin 

“ Never saw her till to-night.” 

“ She goes by the name of May French. She 
uster be well known in these parts; but lately she’s 
been keepin’, or been kept, putty close, and I ain’t 
seen her about none. She’s a putty gal.” 

“ Do you know where she lives? ” Barry in- 
quired eagerly. 

“ Naw. I don’t know nothin’ of her now.” 

Barry put out his hand. “ Good night, Jim,” 
he said heartily; “ I’m going home to sleep.” 

“ A very good idee,” Jim remarked as he 
walked away. 

That night Fred had a curious dream. He 
was on a lonely way, hotly pursuing a shape of 
wondrous beauty that somehow managed to keep 
always a little ahead of him. Every now and 
again the lovely vision would turn and beckon 
with an entrancing smile that seemed to absorb 
his senses. The path was springy with moss and 
completely bowered with sweet-scented flowers; 
but their thorns pricked him, and at the end of 
the long vista he could see great rocks and bram- 
ble and yawning precipices. Still he kept on and 
57 


The Short Cut 


on, straining every nerve to overtake that which 
ran so lightly before him. At last he had almost 
succeeded, when the wraith vanished, leaving him 
in a pall of darkness. The next instant he 
stumbled and would have fallen headlong had 
not a firm hand caught his, while a sweet voice 
murmured in his ear, “ I forgive.” 

He awoke trembling and in a cold perspiration. 
He glanced at the clock — ^just eleven, and he 
was due down town at twelve. 

Upon reaching the office he was informed by 
the “ gate boy ” that the editor wished to see 
him. Expecting an “ assignment,” Fred hur- 
ried to the desk. 


58 


CHAPTER V 


AN ASSIGNMENT 

Mr. Hardcastle, city editor, was a stout, bald- 
headed man, with shrewd eyes and a pleasant 
face. “ Good morning, Mr. Barry,” said he. 
He motioned Fred to a chair, and went on scan- 
ning newspapers with a lightning glance that no 
news item escaped, meanwhile snipping out col- 
unms, half columns, and interesting paragraphs 
here and there with a large pair of shears. The 
clippings he marked and placed in a neat pile to 
be given to the reporters to “ work up.” Finally 
he threw the papers aside and said kindly; “I 
believe you had no vacation last summer, so, if 
you like, you may take two weeks, beginning 
next Monday.” 

Barry thanked him and started to walk away, 
when Mr. Hardcastle called him back. “ By the 
way,” he said briskly, handing Fred a clipping, 
“ there’s a good story, easily worth a column. I 
59 


The Short Cut 

wish you’d see that young woman and get all the 
details you can.” 

“ Yes, sir.” Fred went over to the reporters’ 
table to read what he saw by the character of the 
print had been cut out of a sensational evening 
paper. 

The bold top headlines ran: Rich Woman’s 
Carriage Nearly Kills Newsboy ” ; then in 
smaller type: “Miss Marion Leeds Takes In- 
jured Lad to Her Palatial Fifth- Avenue Resi- 
dence ” ; and below this was the single line : 
“Boy May Recover; Coachman Arrested.” 

Fred flushed with surprise, but calmly read the 
account through. The gist of it was : Miss Leeds 
had been out alone that morning. On her way 
home her carriage had been caught in a conges- 
tion of traffic at Broadway and Twenty-third 
Street, where her horses, made restive by sur- 
rounding vehicles, had suddenly leaped into an 
open space and had knocked down a small news- 
boy, who was in the act of darting across the 
street. The paper declared that one of the front 
wheels had passed over the boy’s body. Miss 
Leeds, in lieu of fainting, had assisted a police- 
60 


An Assignment 

man in placing the little sufferer on the soft cush- 
ions of her carriage. She had then driven to the 
nearest physician, and, later, home, accompanied 
by the burly guardian of the law, who wished to 
make sure of nabbing her unlucky coachman. 

Fred was in a quandary. Being personally 
acquainted with Miss Leeds, and also with her 
brother, John, who was a member of the gym- 
nasium, he felt that to call upon her in his profes- 
sional capacity, particularly at a time when she 
would naturally be upset, would be little short 
of an insult. And yet, what was he to do? Not 
to “ cover ” the assignment, which from an edi- 
tor’s viewpoint was an important one, might 
jeopardize his position; for none knew better than 
he the diabolical ingenuity of news gatherers, 
and he feared lest some resourceful contempo- 
rary should obtain the entire story, if not from 
Miss Leeds, at least from some member of the 
household. Then an idea occurred to him. Why 
need he mention his purpose? After luncheon 
he would stop in at his house and dress, then call 
socially on Miss Leeds and question her in a 
sympathetic manner regarding the accident. In 
61 


The Short Cut 


that way he could learn all he wished without 
embarrassing either her or himself. On reaching 
this dispassionate decision he had a momentary 
twinge of conscience, which he quickly mitigated 
by assuring himself that, in spite of anything he 
could do, the story would inevitably appear in 
every Sunday-morning newspaper in the city. 

His further cogitations were interrupted by a 
hearty slap on the back, coupled with the saluta- 
tion: “Howdy, Fred. What’s on now?” 

“ The Leeds story, Nick.” 

“ That’s a good one, if you can make the girl 
talk. But those Fifth Avenue swells are devilish 
hard to get at. A hundred to one she won’t even 
see you. They gave it to a good man, though,” 
Nick added good naturedly as he moved off. “ If 
anybody can get it, you can.” 


62 


CHAPTER VI 


ITS EXECUTION 

A NEIGHBORING clock struck fouT as Barry as- 
cended the broad steps of a magnificent mansion 
on upper Fifth Avenue. In response to his ring 
and inquiry whether Miss Leeds was at home, the 
butler replied that he would ‘‘ ascertain ” ; he 
then graciously received the visitor’s card, ush- 
ered him into the drawing-room, and disap- 
peared. 

He had not been long gone when Marion 
Leeds entered. “ I am very glad to see you, Mr. 
Barry,” she said frankly. “ It seems a great 
while since you were here.” There was a suspi- 
cion of reproach in her remark, and its implied 
compliment was sweetened tenfold by the naivete 
of its utterance. 

“ It has seemed long to me also,” Fred an- 
swered, boldly giving her words a significance she 
had not intended. 

Marion blushed. She had not meant that she 
63 


The Short Cut 


cared. “ Won’t you sit down? ” she said with a 
touch of hauteur. 

Barry did not answer. He was thinking how 
beautiful she was, with her figure of soft lines and 
curves, her exquisite profile and pure coloring; 
moreover, there was that about her that com- 
manded his respect. 

She dropped wearily into a chair, and uncon- 
sciously he drew his nearer as he said earnestly: 
“ Do you care whether I come or not? Do you 
ever — miss me? ” 

Her embarrassment passed, and she looked at 
him trustfully. “ Sometimes; especially when I 
am in trouble, as I was to-day. You know so 
much about — everything; and I know so little. 
My horses knocked down a tiny newsboy this 
morning. He’s upstairs now. I was reading 
some lurid literature to him when you came. The 
doctor says he isn’t much hurt, ‘ only a broken 
leg ’ ; but I think that’s very much hurt indeed. 
But how did it get into the newspapers?” she 
asked, adding with pretty ignorance, “ I suppose 
a reporter must have been there when the accident 
happened.” 


64 


Its Execution 


“ Not necessarily,” said Fred, smiling. 
‘‘ When an accident occurs the patrolman on 
post obtains the names and addresses of every- 
body concerned in it; he also notes the time, 
place, and manner of its occurrence, and sends 
for an ambulance if one is needed. He then re- 
ports the facts to his sergeant, who telephones 
them to Police Headquarters, where they are 
given out to reporters, who proceed to pad them 
with everything they can imagine or cull from 
interviews with eyewitnesses, the police, and the 
principals. Such is the system of getting a story 
like yours in a nutshell.” 

“How very interesting!” Marion exclaimed, 
pleased at his succinct account. “No reporter 
has seen me, however, although several have been 
here. Fancy discussing such a horrible thing 
with a strange man! One had the audacity to 
send up a request for my photograph, and when 
the butler brought him my answer, he threatened 
to print a ‘ stock ’ picture and to put my name 
under it.” 

“ The miserable scoundrel! What was his 
name? What paper was he from? ” 

65 


The Short Cut 


She shrank from his stern face, yet she was 
pleased that he was angry for her sake ; nor could 
she help thinking how handsome he looked, and 
what a magnificent physique he had. “ He would 
not dare!’’ She had thrown her head slightly 
back, and her fine nostrils dilated. 

God! How beautiful she was! Fred felt the 
hot blood rush to his head. He forgot his purpose 
— everything, save that he loved this superb pa- 
trician; and with him, to love was to have. He 
half rose, when through the red mist he caught 
her pure fearless eyes fixed haughtily on his. His 
brain cleared, and he sank back embarrassed and 
at a loss for speech. Her purity so far abashed 
his strength that he lacked courage even to touch 
her hand. Presently, his professional instinct 
coming to his aid, he stammered, “ How is the 
boy getting along? ” 

“ He says he feels very comfortable.” 

“ How young a child is he? ” 

“ I should say he is about nine years old — not 
young,” Marion replied roguishly; for the cloud 
had passed, and she was looking at him with the 
sparkling saucy humor of a child. 

66 


Its Eccecution 

Both laughed, more at each other than at any- 
thing else. 

“ I suppose he’s one of a numerous family,” 
Fred pursued tentatively. 

“Oh, no; quite the contrary. He’s the sole 
support of an invalid widowed mother.” 

“ Ah! ” said Barry, making a mental note. 

“ But papa intends to help her,” Marion con- 
tinued quickly. “ He says he’ll give her enough 
money for the rest of her life.” 

“ That is very good of him.” 

“ It wasn’t very good of me to run over her 
poor little boy.” 

“ Probably the poor little boy would allow 
himself to be run over again if he thought it paid 
well.” 

“How dreadfully you talk!” said Marion in 
a pained voice. “ Sometimes I think you quite 
cynical and — and cold-blooded.” 

“ Don’t think that.” He put his warm hand 
on hers, and the action seemed so spontaneous 
that she did not resent it. “ I don’t care what 
others think ; but I can’t bear to have you despise 
me.” 


67 


The Short Cut 


“ I could never do that,” she answered softly. 
She was not afraid of him now. It was his pas- 
sion she feared, not his love. 

“You have no conception of what the poor will 
do for money,” he went on, anxious to rehabili- 
tate himself by justifying his remark about the 
boy. “ Have you never heard of persons delib- 
erately falling off of railroad cars, and even un- 
der them, so as to be able to sue the company for 
damages? ” 

“ No! ” she exclaimed, horrified. 

“ It’s a fact, nevertheless. Then it’s a common 
thing for a doctor who wishes to perform a skin- 
grafting operation to advertise for the needful 
amount of healthy human epidermis; and the 
next morning his office is besieged by scores of 
applicants anxious to sell their skins by the 
square foot so long as they are paid well. I 
verily believe that should anyone advertise for a 
man’s heart’s blood, some poor devil with a starv- 
ing family would answer the advertisement, only 
stipulating that his wife and children be paid so 
much per drop.” 

“How perfectly dreadful!” Marion gasped. 

68 


Its Execution 


Her face had become white, and Barry cursed 
himself for having allowed his imagination to 
overcome his judgment. 

“ Forgive me,” he said remorsefully. “ I 
shouldn’t have told you such things.” 

“ Why? ” she demanded. “ Why should not 
I know the dark side as well as the bright? Tell 
me, how can the unfortunate poor best be reached 
and helped? ” 

“ By singling out individual cases and doing 
what you can for them,” said Barry gravely. 
‘‘ I’m not much of a believer in organized char- 
ity, but if one personally brings happiness to a 
single human being, one has not lived wholly in 
vain.” 

His earnestness moved her to say impulsively: 
“Will you help me to help? In your profession 
you must see a great deal of misery. Will you 
promise to let me know of all the sad cases, so 
that I may do at least a small amount of good 
in a world ” — she sighed heavily — “ where I 
seem only to enjoy myself? ” 

“ I promise.” Barry stood up to go. 

Marion held out her hand, when he stooped 
69 


The Short Cut 


suddenly and kissed her on the lips. She drew 
back, her virgin cheek the color of a peony. “ It 
isn’t right for you to do that,” she faltered. 

“ Then it is wrong to love,” he answered. He 
walked out into the hall, fumbled into his coat 
and left the house, his brain in a whirl, his feet 
scarce touching the steps. That Marion loved 
him he felt sure. It must be, else she would not 
have permitted him to kiss her. In Barry’s mind 
a gentlewoman was in a magic circle which no 
mere woman could ever enter. A gentlewoman 
never flirted, for flirting was vulgar; and when 
she allowed a caress it meant that she loved. On 
the other hand, women without the preflx were 
creatures whom one fancied, used and tossed 
aside; beings without soul, conscience, or refine- 
ment. 

In that afternoon’s interview Fred’s love for 
Marion had been born almost instantly, and he 
felt that such was the truest love. But why had 
he not loved Marion long ago? Probably be- 
cause he had never before seen her as she really 
was, a ball or an afternoon tea being hardly con- 
ducive to tender interchanges. It was odd, too, 
70 


Its E execution 

that it had not once entered his mind to ask her 
to marry him. A conventional person would 
have proposed first and made love afterwards. 
But Barry was not conventional. To him love 
was paramount, marriage secondary and conse- 
quent. Perhaps, also, the presumptuousness of 
the thought had kept it from his consciousness; 
for, while Marion’s father was excessively rich, 
he, Fred Barry, was comparatively poor. Nev- 
ertheless, he would ask her in a few weeks, after 
he had become used to the idea. For did not his 
blood, if not his bank account, equal hers? 


When Barry made his report to Mr. Hard- 
castle it was close to half -past five. 

“ Miss Leeds refused to talk,” he said with curt 
untruthfulness. 

“ Very well,” replied the editor, too busy to 
look up. ‘‘Write what you can about it.” 
Which Barry did forthwith, but by no means 
in his usual breezy style. His “story” was 
hardly more than a bald dry statement of police 
facts. 


71 


The Short Cut 


After Mr. Hardcastle had rapidly run his eye 
over Fred’s “ copy ” he summoned him to the 
desk and addressed him severely: “Mr. Barry, 
I am surprised that a man of your ability should 
be guilty of such stuff as this. Instead of making 
as much of this story as possible, you have actu- 
ally belittled it. Marion Leeds is, of course, the 
‘ feature,’ but I see you have barely mentioned 
her. Perhaps you are getting tired, and need 
a rest.” Then he added more kindly: “ I don’t 
think we shall need you any more to-night. Re- 
port two weeks from Monday. Good-bye and 
good luck to you.” 

Fred’s pride was wounded to the quick, and 
yet he felt glad for what he had done. His pen, 
at least, had not desecrated his idol with vulgar 
balderdash to please a newspaper editor. 

On his way out he met Nick, who greeted him 
with: “Well, old man, did you see the heroine 
of the ‘ awful accident ’ ? ” 

Fred replied shortly. Then he laid his hand 
on the other’s shoulder. “ Say, Nick, I wish you 
to do me a favor. I’m going to take two weeks’ 
vacation, and I want you to send me the ad- 
72 


Its Execution 


dresses of all the ‘ sick-and-destitute cases ’ you 
hear about. Will you? ” 

“ Sure. But, in Heaven’s name, what for? 
Are you going into the philanthropy business? ” 
“ Perhaps.” And Barry passed out. 


73 


CHAPTER VII 

A STAG DINNER 

The next morning Barry dressed somewhat 
earlier than usual and went into the breakfast 
room, where he found his father absorbed in a 
newspaper. Dr. Barry was fifty, full-blooded 
and fine-looking, with a mind every whit as broad 
and tolerant as his physique. His most pro- 
nounced characteristic was an intense love for his 
son. 

He looked up as Fred entered, and threw aside 
the journal with an exclamation of disgust. 
“ That’s a damned scurrilous sheet you work for, 
my boy,” he ejaculated. “ I’ve just read a long 
account of an accident in which our pretty friend, 
Marion Leeds, seems to have been most unfor- 
tunately involved; and of all the idiotic, sensa- 
tional, bombastic rubbish I ever read, this is the 
worst.” He reached for the offending sheet, and, 
74 


A Stag Dinner 

pointing to a column capped by a succession of 
bold headlines, handed it to Fred. “ That a 
lady’s name should be dragged into such pub- 
licity is outrageous. Who do you suppose wrote 
it?” 

A hasty glance convinced Fred that his own 
story had been entirely rewritten, evidently by a 
journalist not hampered by scruples; and he 
flushed with anger at seeing Marion’s name fre- 
quently and familiarly mentioned in exaggerated 
phrases. Her beauty, her presence of mind, and 
her charitableness were made cynosures for every 
vulgar eye, and there was also a brief recital of 
her personal history. The whole sounded very 
much like an effusion of Nick; but Fred wisely 
decided to keep this surmise to himself. After all, 
the poor fellow did not know her, and had written 
only what had been ordered. 

“ I can’t say who wrote it, father; but it is dis- 
graceful,” Fred declared feelingly. 

“ Have editors no respect for anybody? ” 

“ Not an iota. An editor regards news purely 
as a dish to be made as savory as possible for the 
public palate. Therefore, it is ‘ cooked up,’ often 
75 


The Short Cut 


boiled down, but always served hot. Its condi- 
ments are the ‘ interesting details,’ employed with 
a more or less lavish hand, according to their 
flavor. A newspaper office is devoid of senti- 
ment. If a nobody is killed, nothing is printed 
for nobody to read; but if a somebody twists an 
ankle, everything is printed for everybody to 
read.” 

“I see you understand your business,” said 
Dr. Barry, laughing. “ But I think the most 
‘ interesting detail ’ for us to discuss now is the 
breakfast.” 

Father and son alike believed in enjoying the 
good things of life to the full. Both possessed 
astonishing appetites and astounding capacities, 
and neither had the slightest hesitancy in order- 
ing to be prepared, sur-le-champs, anything he 
happened to fancy. It was not long before the 
tasty dishes were lightened, and the large pot of 
coffee ran dry. 

‘‘ Here, Rosy,” said the elder man, addressing 
a neat white-capped waitress, whose cheeks har- 
monized with her name, “ tell Norah to make 
more coffee, and to send it up with the buckwheat 
76 


A Stag Dinner 

cakes. Cakes and coffee go well together, eh, 
Fred? ’’ 

“ Yes. By the way, IVe just been granted a 
fortnight off, so I’d like to give a dinner some 
night this week to a few friends.” 

Make it Wednesday. I’ll be out of town.” 

“ But I wish you to be with us, father.” 

“ Tut, tut; an old codger among a lot of young 
fellows would be a spoil sport. Give ’em a good 
dinner and plenty of good wine, and invite only 
gentlemen. Then if decorum without formal- 
ity presides, you’ll have the best kind of a 
time.” 

“ What a dear old pater you are! ” said Fred 
affectionately. 

Immediately after breakfast Fred wrote to 
Nick Adams, Frank Holbrook, and John Leeds, 
asking each to dine with him on the following 
Wednesday. 

In due course all gladly signified their accept- 
ance; for Fred’s dinners were usually unusually 
good and his wines irreproachable. 

Holbrook was the first to arrive on the ap- 
pointed night; John Leeds came a close second, 
77 


The Short Cut 

and lastly, Nick strolled in just a^ dinner was 
announced. 

‘‘ Trust Nick to be true to his name — in the 
nick of time, you know,” drawled Holbrook. 
Then he calmly lighted a cigarette to signify his 
contempt for the groans which he had called 
forth. 

“ What are you doing, old man? ” Nick said 
anxiously. “ You can’t smoke now; we’ve all got 
to eat.” 

“ Not so. We’re in Bohemia to-night, aren’t 
we, Fred? We may eat when we wish, smoke 
when we like, and drink what we can.” 

‘‘ Each may do exactly as he damn pleases,” 
said the host forcibly; “ but for my part, I wish 
to eat.” And he made a dash for the dining 
room, followed precipitately by the whole com- 
pany. 

Frank, still smoking, gravely took a seat oppo- 
site Fred. 

“ Cocktails for how many? ” inquired the 
host. 

“ None for me, thank you,” said John Leeds. 

“ Count me in,” said Frank. 

78 


A Stag Dinner 

“ Me also,” echoed Nick. 

“ Two Manhattans, Rosy.” 

“ Has mine host signed the pledge, or is he 
ill? ” Frank asked solicitously. 

“ Neither. He is merely exercising the privi- 
lege that yourself suggested.” 

“You haven’t turned temperance?” pursued 
Holbrook, looking worried. 

“ As far as cocktails are concerned.” 

“ Fred, your judgment’s all right,” put in 
Nick. “ They say the best cocktails are made of 
the poorest whiskey ; and I must confess ” — ^he 
drained the glass which Rosy had brought him 
— “ that this Manhattan is exceptionally fine 
and ” 

“Therefore our host’s whiskey is damned bad,” 
finished Frank. “ For shame, Nick! ” 

“ Perhaps you’ll find the wine better,” said 
Fred, laughing. “ What’ll you have, boys? ” 

“ I’ll stick to this Madeira, if you don’t 
mind,” said Leeds, helping hinlself to a second 
glass. 

“ What’s yours, Nick? ” 

“ Claret for mine.” 


79 


The Short Cut 


“ And I’ll keep my host company, trusting 
him for knowing what’s good,” murmured 
Frank cutely. 

When Rosy came in with the fish, Fred or- 
dered a bottle of Chateau Margaux and two of 
Yquem. Then he said in a low tone to John 
Leeds : “Will you tell your sister, old man, that 
I shall be able to go to her dance Saturday, after 
all? She was kind enough to send me an invi- 
tation, which I declined, thinking I should have 
to work that night.” 

“ I’ll tell her, certainly,” rephed Leeds ; “ and 
I’m sure she’ll be as dehghted as I am that you 
can come.” 

John Leeds was studying for the ministry. 
He was tall and stoop-shouldered, with a long 
melancholy face and solemn gray eyes. Fred had 
never liked him overmuch, but a sudden desire to 
know the brother of Marion better had prompted 
him to include him in the dinner. 

“I say, John,” said Nick suddenly, “is that 
girl whose carriage ran over a newsboy any rela- 
tion of yours? ” 

“ She is my sister.” 


80 


A Stag Dinner 

‘‘ You don’t say so! Too bad! Was the boy 
much hurt? ” 

“ Not very seriously.” 

“ How is the champagne, Rosy? ” Fred asked, 
to shunt the conversation. 

“ All right, sir.” 

Barry nodded approval. “ Then bring it 
in. Afterwards you may go until I ring for 
you. I dined with Cohen last night,” he said to 
Frank. 

“ Do tell! Did he blow you? ” 

“ Yes — to the invitation.” 

“ And you paid for the dinner? ” 

“ I had to. He said he was short, and asked 
me if I’d mind settling.” 

“ You’re easy.” 

All right. I’d rather be ‘ easy ’ than Cohen. 
I thought he had money. He talks like a million- 
aire.” 

“ Most Jews do. They’re rich in the abstract, 
but damned poor in the concrete. What did you 
eat?” 

“ Lamb fries. But Cohen wouldn’t touch ’em. 
He tiptilted his nose, a difficult thing for him, 
81 


The Short Cut 


and said ' nobody ' ate them. ‘ But somebodies 
do! ’ said I, helping myself.’’ 

“ Good — Say, Nick, who is that girl I saw you 
with last week? Red hair, blue eyes, and a depre- 
cating manner.” 

“ I met her on Sixth Avenue,” said Nick. 
“ When I spoke to her she was very angry — at 
first. Now, why is it,” Nick continued plaintive- 
ly, “ that a girl invariably imagines that any 
stranger who accosts her on the street intends an 
insult, and thinks she looks fast, when, as a mat- 
ter of fact, he addresses her mainly because she 
looks innocent and sweet? ” 

“ True,” assented Holbrook, adding dryly : 
“ But it’s quite different when a woman accosts a 
man. She, as a rule, means business, and soon 
shocks him with an insulting proposal.” 

All laughed, excepting John Leeds. 

“ A loose woman,” Fred remarked after an in- 
terval of silence, “ is much more easily insulted 
than a good one. I suppose she feels guilty; so, 
when a stranger accosts her, she resents it, because 
she imagines he does not respect her.” 

“ What an analyzer you are! ” said Holbrook. 

82 


A Stag Dinner 

I think there’s nothing doing in that quar- 
ter, though,” Nick murmured, his mind still on 
the red-haired houri. “ She seemed perfectly un- 
sophisticated.” 

“ Then drop her,” said Fred with sudden stern- 
ness. “ If she’s ignorant, for God’s sake don’t 
teach her anything.” 

‘‘You wouldn’t take advantage of her, 
Nick? ” queried Frank. 

“ A man who would ruin a girl is an unmiti- 
gated scoundrel,” said Leeds, getting red in the 
face. 

Nick smiled. His good nature was imperturb- 
able, though some suspected that this admirable 
attribute was due to an absence of feeling. 

“ Love and ruin are by no means synony- 
mous,” Holbrook observed slyly. He made the 
remark with the deliberate intention of anger- 
ing John Leeds, whom he detested and delighted 
to tease. 

John sniffed. “You mean that it does not 
ruin a girl to take advantage of her love? ” 

“ Sometimes it does — indirectly, and sometimes 
it doesn’t,” replied Frank. “ It ruins a girl only 
83 


The Short Cut 


when it is a cause, direct or indirect, of spoiling 
her life ; and whether it does that, depends wholly 
upon circumstances — such as her environment, 
her disposition, and the man’s disposition. If a 
man really loves, he will remain true, and prob- 
ably in the end marry his mistress. On the other 
hand, if he does not love, he will almost certainly 
desert her. But even in the latter case the girl is 
not necessarily ruined — that depends on herself.” 

“ So you think illicit love a good thing? ” 
Leeds sneered. 

“ I am stating facts, not advocating princi- 
ples,” replied Holbrook sharply. “ You argue 
that illicit love is in itself wrong, and I say it is 
not. The wrong lies in desertion afterwards. 
Nothing is wrong that causes no unhappiness; 
unlawful loving, per se, does not cause unhappi- 
ness ; therefore, unlawful loving is not wrong. 

“ Now, if you deny the premises of that syllo- 
gism, listen to this; I personally know certain 
women who have married men to whom, before 
marriage, they have yielded through love. But 
where does the ‘ ruin ’ come in? They have 
money, friends, and social position, and are ap- 
84 


A Stag Dinner 

parently quite as happy as their neighbors. And 
why shouldn’t they be? They have committed 
no crime, for each surrendered herself for the 
holiest of reasons — love, and thereafter has re- 
mained virtuous.” 

“ The crime is there,” said Leeds contemptu- 
ously, “ even though it has not been discovered.” 

‘‘ There are actions innocent in themselves 
which, when found out, become wicked, because 
of the misery wrought by condemnatory opin- 
ion,” declared Holbrook. And to provoke “ the 
minister ” still further, he continued: “ The wom- 
en of whom I spoke naturally conducted their 
prenuptial meetings on the quiet, as they are firm 
believers in an admonition which, for some reason, 
has been omitted in our Lord’s statute book — 
‘ Whatever you do, don’t get found out! ’ Now, 
had any one of them broken that commandment, 
Society would have damned the woman, at least, 
thereby making itself wickedly responsible for 
the resultant misery.” 

John was about to make an angry reply, when 
Fred came to his guest’s relief : “ Come, Frank, 
let up. You’re getting coarse. John’s theistic 
85 


The Short Cut 


reasoning and your atheistic sophistry can never 
agree, so what’s the use of arguing? Let’s tap 
another quart of White Seal.” He pressed an 
electric bell. 

“ You might have put it the other way,” Hol- 
brook grumbled. 

“ I have often wondered,” Barry remarked 
thoughtfully, “ whether it would be just to hold 
any of us criminally responsible for our sins.” 

“ By denying the doctrine of free will one de- 
stroys the whole fabric of Christianity,” said 
Leeds. 

“ Let me cite an example,” Fred continued. 
“ I know a certain young woman who is the best- 
natured, best-hearted creature in the world; but 
she has a passionate sensual disposition, and her 
very obligingness is a snare in which she is likely 
to be caught any day. She is married. Having 
known her for some time, I one day invited her 
out to luncheon. We drank, of course, and I no- 
ticed it was easy to persuade her to take any 
number of additional cocktails — perhaps she 
thought that to say ‘ no ’ would hurt my feelings. 
Now I have every reason to believe her virtuous, 
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A Stag Dinner 

and yet, that day, the liquor affected her to such 
an extent that her passion shone plainly in her 
eyes; and I felt certain that she was ready to go 
as far as I liked! ” 

“ But had she committed a sin, she would have 
been responsible,” said Leeds. ‘‘ She should have 
had sufficient strength of mind to have said 
‘ No.’ ” 

“ Why? Suppose she lacks strength of mind, 
who is to blame? Certainly not she. For no one 
has anything whatever to do with his or her birth, 
nor are any of us free to choose our ancestors 
from whom we inherit the various germs whose 
growth forms character.” 

“ By an effort of the will the good germs can 
be cultivated and the bad ones nipped,” Leeds 
argued. 

“ Certainly,” replied Fred, “ by an effort of 
the will! But suppose there is no will for the 
effort? Neither man nor circumstances can cre- 
ate a strong-willed person from an originally 
weak-willed one.” 

“ God can create anew if we ask His aid,” 
averred “ the minister ” solemnly. 

87 


The Short Cut 


“ But God won’t help those who will not help 
themselves. However you may put it, the de- 
sire, determination, and will to do right must be 
included in character; otherwise, the unfortunate 
lacking those attributes is like a rudderless ship 
drifting in an open sea.” 

“You do not take into consideration the im- 
portance of training,” Leeds insisted. “ Records 
show that many children of inherited vicious ten- 
dencies who have been adopted by Christian fam- 
ilies have developed into upright men and noble 
women,” 

“ True. But in such cases the free wills of the 
subjects have still played no part. Their environ- 
ment was merely a fortuitous circumstance which, 
fortunately for them, stunted their bad germs 
and cultivated their good ones. Under less 
favorable conditions any one of them might 
just as easily have become a thief or a cut- 
throat. I sometimes think that life is nothing 
more than a giant’s game of battledore and shut- 
tlecock.” 

“ And we are the shuttlecocks,” exclaimed 
Holbrook. “Bravo, Fred! Here’s your very 
88 


A Stag Dinner 

good health. But methinks you are something 
of a sophist yourself.” 

As the two men drank, each felt that his ideas 
were thoroughly understood only by the other. 

In the pause that followed, Nick, who had 
been watching for an opportunity to get a word 
in, drawled: “ Your theory, Fred, is thoroughly 
demoralizing; for if everyone believed that 
everything he did was necessitated, no one would 
will to exert himself at all.” 

“ That’s where you are wrong,” replied Fred 
quickly. “ You miss the point. Though our 
acts are not freely willed, they are none the less 
willed, and are inevitable. The widely different 
acts that are performed by each one of us are 
merely the manifestations of impulses whose rela- 
tive strengths depend wholly upon our proper 
characters, which are inherited independently of 
our wills, and developed by purely fortuitous 
circumstances.” 

“ I fear yours is an improper character,” put 
in Holbrook. 

“ Herbert Spencer,” Fred went on, not heed- 
ing the interruption, “ spent thirty-six years of 
89 


The Short Cut 


his life in unremunerative work on his ‘ System 
of Philosophy/ He willed to accomplish that 
work, certainly, but not freely; it was a necessity 
of his peculiar mental organization. Do you 
really believe,” he added earnestly, looking at 
Leeds, “ that you are free to do anything what- 
ever this minute? ” 

“ I could do anything that was not beyond my 
power, if I so willed,” Leeds answered. 

“ If you willed to do it, yes,” Fred admitted. 
“ But do you think you could will to do anything 
unless the act accorded with your character? 
Apparently you could walk to the roof of this 
house, jump off, and so commit suicide; really 
you could do nothing of the kind, for, your 
desire to live being stronger than your desire 
to kill yourself, the weaker impulse could not, 
without subverting natural law, overcome the 
stronger.” 

Leeds was silent. But Nick was much inter- 
ested. “ Is there, then,” the latter queried, ‘‘ no 
such thing as liberty of choice? ” 

“ So-called liberty of choice,” replied Fred, “ is 
purely an illusion. Every apparent choice that 
90 


'A Stag Dinner 

we make is the act necessitated by the conditions 
working on the character peculiar to the individ- 
ual ; that is to say, the act is merely the resultant 
of all the desires and counter-desires aroused in 
the individual by the conditions or influences 
which are brought to bear upon him. Hesitation 
to act implies a balance of all the desires for and 
against the action ; and immediately that the bal- 
ance is destroyed the act ensues.” 

“ I follow you perfectly,” Frank remarked 
quietly. “ Ability to predict what another will 
do under given conditions requires merely a thor- 
ough knowledge of his character.” 

“ Exactly,” said Fred. “ But a thorough 
knowledge of anyone’s character, or even of his 
own character, is what no man possesses. Hence 
our misjudgings and miscalculations. We natu- 
rally conclude that a known thief will steal when 
he has a chance; but he may not; some impulse 
within or influence without, which we have not 
counted on, may restrain him.” 

‘‘ Exactly incorrect,” cried Leeds hotly. “ I 
never heard such sophistry in my life. You gen- 
tlemen seem to forget that there is a law higher 
91 


The Short Cut 


than mathematical laws; aye, higher even than 
any law we know of.” 

“ And what law is that? ” asked Nick. 

“ The law of God,” answered Leeds sternly. 

“ But you just now said,” Frank objected, 
“ that this law of God was higher than any laws 
we know of. How, then, do you know that a 
law you do not know — for who knows God’s law 
— is higher than a law you do know? ” 

This was a poser that was too much for the 
gravity of Fred and Nick. But the question 
did not strike John Leeds as being in the least 
funny. 

Presently the conversation touched on marriage 
and divorce, John Leeds maintaining that the 
latter should be made much more difficult, and 
he expressed sympathy with the Catholics, who 
absolutely forbid it. 

But here, again, Fred differed with him. “ I 
call it a downright crime,” he said hotly, “ for a 
man and woman to live together unless bound by 
love as well as by marriage ; and of the two, the 
former is the holier bond. Separation is not a 
solution of the problem, for that is nothing less 
92 


A Stag Dinner 

than death in life — or worse, an incentive to 
gross immorality.” 

“ But difficult divorce acts as a deterrent to 
hasty matrimony,” Leeds persisted. “ Persons 
should be more careful in taking such a serious 
step.” 

“ Of course they should,” said Fred impa- 
tiently; “but it is not for us to consider what 
should be, but what is. The sooner we come to 
deal with things as they are, and not as they 
ought to be, the better it will be for us. Laws to 
be adopted must first be adapted. The science of 
sociology and the results of history alike show 
that. We are all imperfect, yet that is no reason 
why one serious mistake should ruin our lives. 
Good men are frequently deceived through no 
fault of their own; indeed, the better they are, 
the more easily are they fooled. Somewhere 
in the Bible it says that it is not good for man 
to live alone. But how much worse is it for 
him to live with a woman whom he does not love ! 
So I say let him get rid of such a one as soon 
as possible. Let the laws which bound them re- 
move their own shackles, and in common justice 
93 


The Short Cut 

give to each of the blunderers a second chance for 
happiness.” 

He spoke with heat, and Frank glanced at him 
sympathetically. ‘‘Never mind, Fred. Have 
another with me,” he said affectionately, and he 
pushed a half -emptied bottle toward his chum. 

Fred silently filled his glass, and again the 
friends drank a tacit toast. Their mutual under- 
standing was perfect. 

Suddenly Fred pushed back his chair and pro- 
posed that they have coffee and cigars in the sit- 
ting room. 

The remainder of the evening passed pleas- 
antly, and at midnight Nick and Leeds took their 
departure. 

Holbrook started somewhat later. “ I suppose 
I’ll see you at the Leeds’s dance? ” he said, press- 
ing Fred’s hand. 

“ I’ll be there.” 

“ Oh, I almost forgot to tell you — I called on 
Miss Leeds yesterday to inquire about that trou- 
blesome boy who got in the way of her carriage ; 
and she seemed so unusually glad to see me that 
I felt quite flattered until she began to talk about 
94 


A Stag Dinner 

you. She asked me was I not one of your great 
friends. For answer, I praised you tremendous- 
ly, and you should have seen her eyes light up. 
’Pon my soul, old man, I think the haughty heir- 
ess is in love.'’ 

“With whom?” asked Fred quickly. 

“ Why, with you, blockhead.” 

“ What did she say? ” 

“ Oh, that you were clever and amiable, and I 
could see she thinks you noble and all that sort of 
thing.” 

“ Too bad I'm not.” 

“ Perhaps you will be when you once cast an- 
chor. By Jove, you're a lucky dog! She's a 
stunning-looking girl, and pure gold. If you 
ever get her, I hope you'll appreciate her.” 

“ Who knows the badness of women best ap- 
preciates a good one,” said Fred sententiously. 

“ You haven't seen that Tenderloin beauty 
since, have you? ” Frank queried somewhat anx- 
iously. 

“No; and I don’t want to.” 

“ I hope you never will.” 

“ Why? ” 


95 


The Short Cut 


“ Because her eyes would drag a man like you 
to the devil. — Well, good night, old fellow. I’m 
off.” 

“ And Marion’s eyes would lead a man to 
Heaven,” thought Fred, as he slowly mounted 
the stairs. 


96 


CHAPTER VIII 


A DISILLUSION 

From a social standpoint the Leeds’s ball was 
a particularly brilliant affair; but to Holbrook 
and Barry, who arrived late, it appeared much 
like any other function of its kind. Mr. and 
Mrs. Leeds stood near the door receiving, and 
Fred could not help thinking that they greeted 
him less effusively than they did Frank. Marion 
was nowhere to be seen. Doubtless she was 
dancing in the next room, from which came the 
strains of a voluptuous waltz. The thought gave 
him a sudden pang. 

Mrs. Leeds led him away to be introduced to 
a “ lovely debutante,'^ who instantly impressed 
him as being totally uninteresting. Her com- 
plexion reminded him of an unbaked patty; her 
eyes were leaden, depressing and unintelligent, 
and when he lowered his glance his opinion de- 
97 


The Short Cut 


scended still farther at sight of a scrawny neck, 
thin arms, and a flat bust. 

“ Awfully warm, is it not? ” she began by way 
of starting the conversation. 

He acquiesced as to the calorifics. 

“ This is such a pretty house,” she prattled; 
“ the decorations are beautiful.” 

He assented. 

“ Have you seen — ” and she named the latest 
play. 

He shamefacedly acknowledged that he had 
not. 

“ What a lovely girl Marion is! ” she said lan- 
guidly. “ I think she is just too sweet for any- 
thing.” 

He became more attentive; but she disap- 
pointed him by again changing the subject. 
“That waltz is perfectly ravishing!” she ob- 
served. 

“ Are you fond of dancing? ” he inquired po- 
litely. 

“ Oh, passionately! ” And her dull face light- 
ed up for the first time. 

“ May I have the pleasure? ” He gave her his 
98 


A Disillusion 


arm, and in another moment they made a part 
of the gay throng who were whirling rhythmical- 
ly about the room. He found her terpsichorean 
talent more graceful and pleasant than her dis- 
course ; so they continued dancing until the music 
ceased. Then he guided her, tired and breathless, 
but happy, to a chair. She was not so plain now. 
Her eyes sparkled and her face glowed with 
color. 

Barry looked at her and experienced a curious 
thrill. How little it took to make one happy! 
He had regarded this homely girl with con- 
tempt; and yet, by indifferently asking her to 
dance, he had given her pleasure. He cudgeled 
his brain for trifling subjects of conversation, and 
succeeded in making himself quite agreeable. In- 
cidentally he found her not so dull as he had sup- 
posed. 

They danced again. The debutante, under the 
genial effect of a good time, now appeared at her 
best, and as Fred was conducting her to a seat a 
second time a gentleman approached to beg her 
for the honor of the next waltz. 

A while later Fred was standing alone watch- 
99 


The Short Cut 


ing the progress of a lanciers, when his eye 
discerned Marion balancing in a figure. She 
wore a low-neck gown of white silk and chiffon, 
which hid but partially the pure fairness of her 
bosom. 

As she resumed her place near her partner, a 
sickly appearing youth with smooth hair and an 
unruffled mien, Fred involuntarily thought of 
those lines of Byron: 

Whene’er I dream of that pure breast. 

How I could dwell upon its snows ! 

Yet is the daring wish represt, 

For that would banish its repose. 

Soon his eyes drew hers, and she gave him a 
sweet smile of recognition. He thought the inter- 
minable figures would never end, but at last the 
liveliness of the music proclaimed the finale. 

He eagerly made his way toward her to claim 
the dance following. 

She held up her card to show him that the next 
dance was already engaged, but, at the same time, 
she shyly indicated several blank spaces. ‘‘ I 
saved those for you,’’ she said simply. 

100 


A Disillusion 


He seized the card, and hurriedly inscribed 
his name wherever he could find room. The mu- 
sicians started a dreamy waltz. 

“Your cavalier is late,” said Fred gayly; 
“ so — ” He placed an arm about her, and the 
next instant they were gliding over the floor, each 
deliciously conscious of the other’s proximity. 
Holding her close, he felt her heart beat. She 
nestled nearer and his eyes grew dim. The 
twinkling lights were illuminating fairyland; 
the music was celestial ; the people, shadowy sub- 
jects — he their king, and she his queen. All at 
once the exquisite harmony ceased, and he came 
to himself. 

A young man dashed up, crying in reproach, 
“ You promised me that dance.” 

“ And you forfeited your claim by being late,” 
Marion retorted joyously. 

“ May I have the next? ” 

“ I am very sorry, but it’s engaged.” 

He walked away chagrined. 

They danced again. 

“ Why did you say you were sorry you were 
engaged for this dance? ” Fred whispered. 

101 


The Short Cut 


“ Silly boy; I had to be polite.” 

“ But it was an untruth,” he persisted banter- 
ingly. 

“ I do not agree with you. Words are merely 
a conventional clothing for ideas, and whatever 
form they may have, they convey only that mean- 
ing which is intended by the speaker and under- 
stood by the hearer. Mr. Smith did not interpret 
my words literally; therefore I did not tell him 
an untruth.” 

Barry was fairly caught, and he was not a 
little startled by the remarkable logicity of her 
reply. Logic and women he had heretofore 
deemed incompatible. 

“ Nor did I deceive you,” Marion continued, 
looking up at him roguishly. “ When I said I 
was sorry, you knew I meant glad.” 

“ Will you come into the conservatory and rest 
for a few minutes? ” he asked. 

“ If you wish,” she said softly. 

He led her quickly through the crowd and out 
into the cool corridor, at the extreme end of which 
was the conservatory. Unfortunately, however, 
it is not our will but trivial circumstances that 
102 


A Disillusion 


oftenest shape events. Fred was not fated to see 
Marion alone that night. 

As they were about to enter the miniature gar- 
den, a voice startled both by exclaiming: “Ah, 
there you are! I have been looking all over for 
you. This is my dance, you know, and it has 
already begun.” The speaker was a narrow- 
headed, flat-chested, irrepressible youth, but if 
anger could have killed, Barry would have anni- 
hilated him on the spot. “ Too bad, old chap, to 
deprive you of such charming society,” continued 

the interloper, “ but ” 

It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any 
good ’ ? ” quoted Barry scornfully. 

But Marion was obliged to fulfill her promise, 
which she did with such sweet reluctance as to 
leave Fred somewhat comforted. Nevertheless, 
after they had gone, he swore vehemently. 

He had just given vent to an alliterative and 
especially euphonious collection of oaths when he 
saw Holbrook sauntering toward him. “ What 
the devil’s the matter with you? ” Frank de- 
manded. “ You swear as prettily as a pirate 
walking his own plank.” 

103 


The Short Cut 


“ Nothing. I feel rather better now.” 

“ Come upstairs and have a smoke. It will re- 
store your equanimity.” 

In the dressing room the chums lighted cigar- 
ettes and sat down to talk. 

“ Have you proposed? ” Frank inquired. 

Fred glowered. “Man proposes; Fate dis- 
poses,” he growled. 

“ By that I gather that you intended to pop, 
but were prevented by some untoward circum- 
stance. But don’t worry, old man ; you may have 
been saved a disappointment.” 

“ I’m going downstairs,” said Barry, rising 
abruptly and flinging away his cigarette. 

“I’m with you. I think it’s about time for my 
dance with Miss Wynkoop. Devilish pretty, 
sweet girl, if only the windows of her soul were 
illumined by a little more intelligence.” And 
Frank sighed for the inner imperfections of the 
outwardly perfect. 

After Holbrook had disappeared in search of 
Miss Wynkoop, Fred felt unaccountably de- 
pressed. He had no wish to reenter the ballroom. 
Then he bethought himself of the conservatory, 
104 


A Disillusion 


and resolved to visit it alone. When safe within, 
he happened on a rustic bench and sat down to 
rest and to enjoy the fragrance of the many ex- 
otic flowers. Presently he became conscious of the 
faint murmur of voices. Glancing in the direc- 
tion of the sound, he descried Marion in appar- 
ently earnest conversation with the sickly looking 
youth with whom she had danced the lanciers. 
His heart contracted; then beat heavily. Good 
God! How much more fortunate was this man 
than he! 

He was about to withdraw when he saw his 
sweetheart deliberately take a rose from her cor- 
sage and pin it to her companion’s coat. He 
stared fascinated until he espied the fellow stoop 
and kiss Marion on the cheek. At this she seemed 
to become very angry, and afterwards to relent, 
for she smiled at her cavalier as though in forgive- 
ness. 

What occurred next Fred did not know. A 
mist obscured his sight, and he grasped the arm 
of the bench to save himself from falling. He 
rose to his feet with difficulty, and groped his 
way out. 


105 


The Short Cut 


In the corridor he met Frank. “ What’s up, 
Fred?” ejaculated the latter, really concerned. 
“ You look like a ghost.” 

“ It’s nothing, old fellow. I don’t feel very 
well — I’m awfully tired.” 

“ Let’s go home, Freddy.” And Holbrook 
linked his arm into that of his friend. ‘‘ We’ve 
had enough of this.” 

They bade good night to Mrs. Leeds, and were 
soon rolling homeward in a hansom. Fred scarce- 
ly spoke, and Frank, respecting his mood, re- 
frained from bothering him with questions. 

The cab stopped at the Holbrook’s, where 
Frank alighted, after squeezing his chum’s hand 
in silent sympathy. 

“ Home, sir? ” inquired the cabman. 

“ No; and for Christ’s sake leave those doors 
open. I want air.” 

“ Where to, sir? ” 

“ To Hell, if you like.” 

At last he was alone. He must try to think. 
Could there be any excuse for Marion’s conduct? 
He laughed harshly. She was a flirt, pure and 
simple. And he had thought her superior and 
106 


A Disillusion 


high-minded! Faugh, what a fool he had been 
to think she cared for him! That sickly man had 
kissed her just as he had done, and she had just 
as easily forgiven him. Perhaps he, too, thought 
her in love with him. He suddenly remembered 
an odd thing that George had once said — that all 
women were alike except in skin and protuber- 
ances. Now the remark seemed peculiarly apt. 

He rapped on the ceiling of the cab. “ Drive 
to the Waldorf,” he ordered. He felt that he 
needed a drink. 

As the hansom turned the comer of Thirty- 
fourth Street he watched the pushcart men trail- 
ing home, and found himself envying them. 

One of the cabs lined in front of the hotel 
turned out sharply, and, amid shouts of laughter 
from the other cabbies, deliberately upset a cart 
filled with peanuts. 

Barry sprang from the hansom and walked 
over to the poor peddler, who stood wringing his 
hands while swearing lustily in Italian. 

“ How much are your peanuts worth? ” Fred 
asked. 

“ T’ree dollar.” 


107 


The Short Cut 


Barry turned to the cabman who had done the 
mischief and said sternly: “Get down off that 
box and either pick up this man’s peanuts or pay 
him three dollars.” 

“ Go to Hell, you — dude,” replied the brute 
in a rage. “ I’ve a great mind to give you a — 
good licking.” 

“ Your ‘ great mind ’ had better advise you 
again,” Fred sneered. “ And if you don’t do as 
I say I’ll have you arrested and will appear 
against you in court.” 

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” 
expostulated the Jehu more mildly. 

“ It’s my business and everybody’s business to 
see that the weak are not abused. That poor pea- 
nut man is just as good as you are, or as I am. 
We’re all working for a living.” 

A murmur of approval arose from the cabmen 
and spectators gathered round. 

“ That man’s got sand,” commented one. 

“ The gentleman’s right,” shouted another. 
“ Come off your perch, John, and pick up the 
peanuts.” 

Suddenly the humor of the situation struck 
108 


A Disillusion 


the crowd, and they roared with laughter. Then 
their demands that the “ gentleman’s ” orders be 
carried out grew momentarily more insistent 
until, finally, a lumbering fellow, bolder than the 
rest, yanked the unfortunate cabman from his 
box, when he was immediately surrounded and 
compelled, amid jeers, to gather up all the tiny 
merchandise which he had wantonly spilled. 

“ That’ll teach the brute a lesson,” muttered 
Barry, as he entered the cafe. 


109 


CHAPTER IX 


AN UNFORTUNATE MEETING 

Monday morning Fred got a letter from 
Nick inclosing the address of a family in imme- 
diate need of assistance. The father was a la- 
borer who had been ill and out of employment 
for several months, and, as a consequence, his 
wife, five children, and himself were starving. 

Mindful of his agreement with Marion, Fred 
forthwith indited the following note: 

“ Dear Miss Leeds: Pursuant to my promise 
to let you know of any ‘ sad cases,’ I inclose a let- 
ter from one Mr. Adams, a fellow-reporter, which 
tells a pitiful story of destitution. It is terrible 
to realize that while we feast, the sick and unfor- 
tunate starve. Anything you can do for these 
wretched people I feel sure they will fully appre- 
ciate. Sincerely, 

“ Frederick Barry.” 

110 


An Unfortunate Meeting 

Two days later he received a delicately per- 
fumed epistle, written in a clear feminine hand. 
It ran : 

“ Dear Mr. Barry: I feel that I cannot thank 
you enough for acquainting me with the desper- 
ate situation of the family of that poor sick la- 
borer. Your letter reached me yesterday morn- 
ing, and I hastened to visit them. I found them 
on the fifth floor of a squalid tenement, huddled 
together in one room. The smallest of the chil- 
dren was gnawing a dirty crust of bread, while 
the others sat silent in apathetic despair. They 
had no fire, and hardly any clothing. Of course 
I attended to their immediate wants, and in so 
doing I realized a joy such as I had never before 
known. I felt that at last I v/as of some little 
use in the world. 

“ Do you recollect what you told me the day 
you called? That if one personally brought hap- 
piness to a single human being, one had not lived 
wholly in vain. Heretofore my life has been all 
vanity. 

“ Why did you and your friend leave so ab- 
ruptly Saturday night — without even bidding 
me good-bye? If I have unwittingly offended 
you, believe me, I am sorry. Why do so many 
things happen which we cannot understand? 

Ill 


The Short Cut 


“ I told papa about my proteges, and he has 
promised to send them money each week, and 
also to give the man work as soon as he recovers. 

‘‘ Thanking you again for your goodness, I 
am. Yours most sincerely, 

‘‘ Marion Leeds. 

“ P. S. — The little newsboy is much better, and 
expects to return home soon.” 

Fred was half suffocated by a great lump in 
his throat. Could he have dreamed that scene in 
the conservatory? Was Marion a flirt? Or was 
she that rarest of preciosities — a high-minded 
woman? 

In his painful reasoning Barry made the fatal 
mistake of judging appearances with the skep- 
ticism and worldly cynicism that he had acquired 
through long contact with the debased side of 
human nature. Of what use to think about 
it? he argued. His knowledge of her character 
was flrst hand. A kiss meant nothing more 
to her than to any woman. Femininity was the 
same in all strata of society, the one difference 
being that the highest indulged themselves least 
openly. 


112 


An Unfortunate Meeting 

He sighed, only to continue his bitter imagin- 
ings yet more cynically; but they were now no 
longer apropos of Marion — rather of women in 
general. How few women were faithful, ex- 
cepting in books and lying newspapers — that is, 
faithful to men: All were unwavering in their 
allegiance to money. Of this fact, he thought, 
many men had gained a miserable knowledge 
when, having run through their bank accounts, 
their “ loving ” wives have immediately broached 
“ separation ” or “ divorce.” Strange, too, how 
closely the disposition of a woman resembled that 
of a cat, which purrs and rubs against one when 
smoothed down, shows its claws if stroked up, 
and completely forgets one as soon as the titilla- 
tion ceases. Moreover, still like a cat, a woman 
was more apt to become attached to a house, and 
the luxuries appertaining thereto, than to the fur- 
nisher of such comforts; for, imlike a dog, when 
his master meets with misfortune, she usually re- 
fused to accompany him downward, preferring 
the delights to which she had been accustomed. 

He picked up a book and began to read. Bah! 
How dry it was! He tossed it aside and strode 
113 


The Short Cut 


out to the gymnasium, where he eased his mind 
by strenuous bodily exertion. 

That night Fred had an engagement with Hol- 
brook uptown; so, shortly after dinner, he left the 
house and boarded a Madison Avenue car. 

There was a notable change in him. His eye 
was now bright, his step alert. Whether this was 
due to the severe exercise he had taken, or to a 
natural reaction from the acute misery of his dis- 
appointment, he did not try to conjecture; he 
was conscious only of a reckless desire for excite- 
ment — anything to bring forgetfulness. His 
thoughts retrospected to that memorable night in 
the “ Tenderloin,’’ and he wondered about the 
superb woman he had seen there. He glanced 
toward the front end of the car. — Good God! 
Was that she, smiling and beckoning him to ap- 
proach ? 

He got up like one dazed. 

“ How do you do? ” she said graciously, ex- 
tending her hand. “ Is it not odd that we should 
meet again? ” 

“ Yes — very odd.” 

“ I was thinking about you.” 

114 


An Unfortunate Meeting 

“ And I of you.” 

“ What is your name? ” 

“ Fred. And yours? ” 

“ May.” 

“ Where are you going? ” 

“ Wherever you are.” 


115 


CHAPTER X 


NEW ILLUSIONS 

It was early morning when Fred returned 
home. He went direct to his room and threw 
himself on the bed, his mind in a tumult, his 
thoughts hardly coherent. “ I loved you from 
the first night I saw you,” May had said. Of 
herself, or of her life, she had spoken nothing. 
But that she loved him was sufficient. Her lips 
had sworn it, while her eyes had conquered the 
last vestige of his skepticism. The term of such 
love he did not consider, for to him love was as 
natural as breathing. Both came to an end, of 
course, but the goal was so far off as to be not 
worth thinking about. He abandoned himself to 
the idea that their passion was of Heaven, thus 
making the common error of confusing mere ani- 
mal instinct with the divinest of all sentiments. 
In the whirlwind of his emotions Marion was for- 
gotten. 


116 


New Illusions 


He was to see May at nine o’clock that even- 
ing, they having agreed to meet in a private 
room of a well-known resort. 

Promptly at the time appointed he was there; 
but she had not yet appeared. Ten minutes 
passed, and he began to think she was not 
coming. Then the door opened noiselessly, 
and the next instant two soft pink palms covered 
his eyes. He wheeled like lightning, and caught 
May to his heart. She kissed him repeat- 
edly, while he looked in wonder at her radiant 
loveliness. 

“ What makes you so late? ” he breathed. 

She did not answer, but continued smothering 
him with caresses. At times she would hold his 
head back to look deep into his eyes, then stoop 
and peck at his lips like a bird, until, passion 
overcoming her, she would melt her moist mouth 
into his. 

Oh, the allurement and devilish power of pas- 
sion! What angel guises does it not take! To 
these two, the world was unpeopled save by them, 
and love was an intangible something of mysteri- 
ous birth and of everlasting life. 

117 


The Short Cut 

A waiter’s discreet knock roused them to reali- 
ties. Fred pulled out a chair and placed it as near 
to his as possible. May dropped into it with a 
small sigh of satisfaction. 

“ What will you drink, dear? ” Barry asked. 

“ I don’t know, sweetheart.” 

“ I drink ale.” 

“Now I know — I’ll have ale, too.” 

“ Probably you won’t like it.” 

“ Oh, yes — if you do.” ^ 

“ Two cream ales, waiter.” And Barry drew 
a breath of relief as that obsequious individual 
disappeared. 

“You haven’t yet told me, darling, why you 
were late.” 

“ I was detained.” 

“ Unavoidably? ” 

“ Is that a proper question? ” 

“ I thought you weren’t coming.” 

“ Which proves you don’t love me.” 

“ How? ” he demanded, somewhat startled. 

“ Because love cannot exist without trust,” she 
replied earnestly. 

The truth of her statement struck him with 
118 


New Illusions 

sudden force. He had loved Marion until that 
scene in the conservatory. 

“ Do you trust me'l ’’ he asked. 

She nodded. 

“ That means you love me? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ How do I know it? ” he persisted. 

“ How do I know that you love me? ” she re- 
torted with as much reason. 

Just then the door of the room again opened; 
this time to admit a black -haired, rosy-cheeked 
young woman, who, though rather flashily 
dressed, was remarkably pretty. 

“ Oh, pardon me ! ” she exclaimed. “ I’m in- 
truding,” and she started back. 

“ Not at all,” said May quickly. “ Sit down 
and have something.” 

The girl stepped forward and drew up a chair. 

Fred was greatly annoyed. That May should 
treat a stranger so familiarly grated on him. 

“ What are you drinking? ” inquired the new- 
comer, slipping into an easy attitude. 

“Ale,” replied Barry. “But you may have 
what you like.” 


119 


The Short Cut 


“ Whiskey for me, thank you,” she said, 
addressing the waiter, who at that moment 
entered. 

By the time the waiter returned it had become 
apparent that the pretty stranger was already 
slightly intoxicated. 

“ My name’s Florence,” she announced, rais- 
ing her glass; “and I’m happy — I’m always 
happy. Why not? I’ll be miserable enough 
when I’m dead. Give a toast? — No? Then I 
will,” and she gurgled a racy doggerel, which 
they drank to in silence. 

“ Now have a drink on me,” she continued. 
“ Here, waiter, fetch a bottle of wine.” 

“ Who’s going to pay for it? ” demanded that 
worthy suspiciously. 

“ He is,” said the girl, jerking her thumb at 
Barry. 

“ Not on your life,” put in Fred, who hated 
“ cheek.” 

But Florence was not at all disconcerted. 
“ Your friend’s awfully handsome,” she said sotto 
voce to May, who smiled feebly, and heartily 
wished her guest a thousand miles off. “ If you 
120 


New Illusions 

don’t mind,” Florence went on, “ I’m going over 
to speak to him.” 

May slipped out of the room, while Florence 
got up rather unsteadily and approached Fred’s 
chair. 

He flung her away and started to his feet, hut 
not before she had thrown both her arms around 
his neck and whispered, “ Leave her and come 
out with me.” 

Then May returned and Fred went to her. 
“ Come, darling, let us go,” he said simply, try- 
ing to take her hand. 

She avoided his touch. “ Just as you say,” she 
said coldly. 

Once outside, her pent anger burst forth. 
“ How dared you let that vile woman touch 
you? ” 

“ I couldn’t help it. But perhaps that will 
teach you not to invite every Florence, Mary, or 
Jane to drink with us.” 

“ You will make me hate you.” 

“ It would be better so.” 

May was softened. “ Forgive me,” she said 
penitently. “ Why need we quarrel? ” 

121 


The Short Cut 


“ Because we love each other.” 

“ Do all lovers quarrel? ” 

“ Generally.” 

“ Why? ” 

“ I suppose,” said Fred, “ because love is self- 
ish, and expects not merely a great deal, but all — 
everything. Afraid of losing what it has gained, 
it is jealous of each look and notices even every 
inflection of the voice. I think that lovers quarrel 
because they are never satisfled.” 

“ Why, then, do we desire to love, and to be 
loved?” 

“ Because we can’t help ourselves. Love is a 
necessity of our nature, which we are obliged to 
satisfy.” 

“ How oddly you talk! ” May did not fully 
comprehend him. 

“ Come in here and have another ale,” said 
Fred, turning into a “ ladies’ entrance.” 

“ I won’t. You might kiss some other 
woman.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ You kissed Florence.” 

“ I did not.” 


122 


New Illusions 


“ I saw you — I peeked through the door.” 

Fred laughed. May’s feminine trick of pre- 
tending knowledge to secure a confession was 
amusing. “ Speak no more of her,” he said im- 
patiently; “ I disliked her on sight.” 

“ Then why did you kiss her? ” May persisted, 
ignoring, womanlike, all he had just said. 

“ For God’s sake, let up. Why did you go 
out and leave us alone? ” 

“ I wished to try you, to see if you could be 
trusted with a pretty girl.” 

Fred feigned contempt and ejaculated: “ Good 
Lord! You don’t call her pretty! ” 

It was a neat stroke. May subsided. But her 
jealousy had irritated him, and he fell to compar- 
ing her coarse egoism with the purity of Marion. 

The lights of a music garden shone in front of 
them, and of accord both entered ; one out of curi- 
osity, the other wishing any kind of distraction. 

As they took seats at a table, paradoxically 
free to those willing to spend money, two stout- 
legged girls shrieked a coon song. 

Fred ordered Bass’s ale, in payment of which 
he tendered a twenty-dollar bill. “ Twenty,” he 
123 


The Short Cut 


said significantly to the villainous-looking drink 
server, who clutched the greenback and vanished. 

Soon he reappeared with the ale and a thick 
“ roll.” The latter, held tightly in his hand, he 
thrust under Fred’s nose, and proceeded to count 
painstakingly aloud: “ Ten — ^twelve — fourteen — 
fifteen — sixteen — seventeen — eighteen — nineteen 
— dollars,” he announced, and handed the bills 
to Barry. 

Fred took them, straightened two ones, which 
had been doubled, and said coolly: “ Two dollars 
more — danrn quick ! ” 

The waiter muttered something, but passed 
over the money. 

“ That’s an old trick,” said Fred, turning to his 
sweetheart — “to double bills, and thus count 
them twice.” 

Before May could answer, she was startled by 
a man’s exclaiming at another table: “By 
God, boys, there’s a fine looker! Get on to that 
shape and those eyes! I’m going to get next in 
spite of that overgrown pup with her.” He 
sneered at Barry, who flushed crimson, but said 
nothing. 


124 


New Illusions 


“ Say, dear,” continued the loafer, “ what’ll 
you ” 

The sentence was not finished, for at that in- 
stant Fred’s hand gripped the ruffian’s collar and 
propelled him swiftly toward the door, where his 
flight was further accelerated by an energetic 
push and a hearty kick. 

When Barry resumed his seat several eyed him 
threateningly; but they calmed down on noting 
his powerful physique and determined bearing. 

“ How strong you are! ” exclaimed May, who 
had had hardly time to become frightened. 

“Bah! Let us go,” said Fred wearily. 
“ These beasts make me sick.” 


125 


CHAPTER XI 


A DISAGREEABLE DISCOVERY 

Fred felt restless the next morning, and arose 
early. He looked at May, who was still sleeping. 
“Poor darling!” he murmured. “How many 
there are more virtuous, and yet much worse than 
you, little sweetheart ! ” 

She stirred uneasily, her breath coming in 
gasps from her parted lips, her bared bosom 
trembling as though oppressed by some startling 
dream; then, with a long, quivering sigh, she 
awoke, her eyes wide with fright, imtil they 
rested on her lover. “ Are you dressing so soon, 
dear? ” she asked. 

“Yes; I have a headache and can’t sleep. 
What were you dreaming? ” 

“ That you left me, Fred; and when I ran af- 
ter you, imploring to be taken back, you cursed 
and struck at me.” 

He continued his toilet in silence. Presently, 
126 


A Disagreeable Discovery 

being an inveterate smoker, he took a cigar from 
his pocket; then fumbled in his waistcoat for a 
match. While so doing, his hand came in con- 
tact with a roll of bills which struck him oddly 
as being smaller than it ought to be. He turned 
his back on May, walked to the window and 
counted the bills carefully, once — twice — three 
times. There was no mistake; three ones were 
missing. He went to the door and examined it. 
It was bolted and locked; therefore no outsider 
could by any possibility have entered. He broke 
out into a cold perspiration, and his head swam. 

What’s the matter, dear? ” his sweetheart ex- 
claimed anxiously. ‘‘ You look white.” 

“ Oh, nothing — that is, not much. I’ve lost a 
httle money.” 

She turned whiter than he, but managed to 
say: “ Why, Fred! How did you lose it? ” 

“ I can’t tell. I only know that I have three 
dollars less in my pocket this morning than I had 
last night.” 

“ Probably you spent it. You know when 
one buys drinks in different places money goes 
much faster than one supposes.” 

127 


The Short Cut 

Fred looked at her for a moment without 
speaking; then he said slowly: “ I know I have 
lost three dollars, because I happened to count 
what I had before coming into this room. I 
don’t see who could have taken it, as the door is 
bolted as well as locked.” 

“ You don’t think I took it, Fred? ” 

“ I haven’t accused you,” he replied gravely. 

“N-no; but you look at me so strangely.” 
Her lip quivered. Suddenly she covered her 
face with her hands and burst into violent weep- 
ing. 

Her sobs stabbed him like knife thrusts. 
“Please don’t,” he begged. “For God’s sake 
don’t cry like that. I know you didn’t take it.” 

“ But I did take it, Fred; I did take it.” 

“ Hush — you don’t realize what you are say- 
ing. I would have given you ten times that 
amount had you asked me.” 

“ I knew that. But I was ashamed to ask you 
— ^to let you see that I needed anything. You 
seemed so different from the rest.” 

“ The rest? ” 

“ Yes — other men I have known. I was afraid 
128 


A Disagreeable Discovery 

you’d despise me, and not love me any more — 
think that I wanted pay like a common street 
woman.” She sobbed again; then continued 
more calmly: The night I first saw you I was 
with a man who, for a long time, had been very 
good to me. He gave me clothes and diamonds, 
which I accepted because I cared nothing for 
him. To me then, love was something to be 
bought and sold. I cared only for the price 
paid — nothing for the purchaser. But after I 
had seen you, all became different. I could no 
longer bear him. We quarreled continually, 
and one evening I showed him the door. He de- 
manded my diamonds and I returned them to 
him. The last of the little money I had saved 
went to my landlady. Now I know you will 
think me queer, but, desperate as I was, I 
couldn’t ask you for money.” 

“ I don’t quite understand,” said Fred gently. 
'‘You say you couldn’t ask me for money, yet 
you knew you couldn’t live on air, and would 
have to ask me some time, so why not last night?” 

“ I expect a cheque from a relative; besides, I 
intend to get a position. I thought you’d never 
129 


The Short Cut 


know; but I suppose now you will hate me, and 
will never trust me again.” And May sobbed 
afresh. 

Barry was at a loss what to do. The com- 
plexity of this woman’s impulses startled him. 
A self-confessed thief, she had defended herself 
ably. But was her defense sincere, or was it, 
more probably, a clever bit of acting? That she 
lacked moral sense seemed certain, for in no part 
of her frank explanation had she displayed the 
slightest contrition for her dishonesty; merely 
she had been horrified at his discovering it. 
Again, this strange woman apparently preferred 
stealing to being unfaithful or to risk ofiPending 
him. Well — provided one confidently expects 
to escape detection, and one’s moral sense is weak, 
stealing might, in some cases, be more agreeable 
than the humihation of a begging request; and 
especially would this be true of one with that pe- 
culiar pride which cannot bear pity. 

After all, Fred thought, it was possible that 
May loved him. Then the words he had once 
spoken to George recurred to his mind: “A 
woman might lie, steal, or even commit murder ; 

130 


A Disagreeable Discovery 

but so long as she loved me, I’ll be hanged if I’d 
desert her.” 

He hesitated no longer, but lifted May, still 
sobbing, in his great arms. “ Don’t you care, 
little sweetheart,” he said soothingly. “ It’s my 
fault, not yours. I ought to have looked after 
you better. But I must go now. When shall 
I see you again? ” 

“ Whenever you wish.” 

“ To-morrow night, then. Same hour and 
place. In the meantime take this,” and he of- 
fered her a bill. 

She refused to accept it, but consented to keep 
the three dollars. 

As he walked toward the door she called him 
back. “ Kiss me again,” she mimnured. 

He pressed her moist little mouth affection- 
ately. 

“ Be true to me, Fred,” she whispered, “ and 
don’t have anything more to do with that horrid 
woman.” 


131 


CHAPTER XII 


PASSING OF THE ILLUSION 

That the world is well stocked with petty an- 
noyances Barry realized the following evening 
when he started out to keep his appointment with 
May. A thorough search in his pockets revealed 
the startling fact that he had but one dollar and 
five cents. He had paid several bills during the 
day, not knowing that he was running short. 

“ There’s no help for it now,” he said to him- 
self. “ Still, I have the price of a few drinks. 
To-morrow I’ll draw on my account and make 
arrangements to give May a regular allow- 
ance. Too bad father isn’t home. He’d give 
me all the money I wished, and ‘ no questions 
asked.’ ” 

He found May waiting in the private dining 
room which he had spoken for in advance. 

“ I can’t remain with you very long, dear,” 
was his greeting; “ I have work to do at home.” 

132 


Passing of the Illusion 

May pouted ; then said suspiciously, ‘‘ Prob- 
ably you want to see that black-haired girl.” 

“ How ridiculous you are! The truth is, I’m 
a little shallow in pocket to-night and ” 

“ Oh, is that all? ” she broke in, apparently 
much relieved. “ I received my remittance this 
morning, so I’m going to treat. Now you 
needn’t say no, for I sha’n’t permit you to leave 
me.” 

“ I’ll stay, then,” said Fred gayly. “ But you 
must allow me to pay you back to-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow never comes.” 

“ I wish it could always be to-day — to-night,” 
he murmured, looking at her. 

“ Kiss me, Fred.” Her eyes, glistening with 
passion, half closed. But when their lips met, 
the intensity of her joy overcame her, and she 
pushed him away almost roughly. “ Don’t, 
darling — wait,” she said breathlessly. 

“ I wish I were a better woman,” she an- 
nounced suddenly. 

“ Why, baby? ” 

“ So you’d love me more.” 

“ But I wouldn’t. Faults make you interest- 
133 


The Short Cut 


ing. Good women remind me of pure water — 
beautiful to contemplate, but insipid to the 
taste.” 

“ Would you marry me? ” 

He was unprepared for the question, and 
answered hesitatingly, “ N-no — I’d rather 
not.” 

“ Tell me why.” 

“ I don’t exactly know. To be with you al- 
ways would be a happiness so absolute as to leave 
nothing to be desired. But probably you’d grow 
tired of me. Perhaps that is it — I don’t know — 
I wouldn’t marry any woman.” 

May winced; then said with a bitterness of 
which he had not deemed her capable: “ If you 
don’t know. I’ll tell you. You wouldn’t marry 
any woman because you are a true man, a wom- 
an’s direct opposite in feeling as in all else. Even 
such as I desire a home and children; you, no 
doubt, hate such things. Babies, the main ob- 
ject of a true woman’s life, are to most men ab- 
horrent — annoying, unnecessary superfluities, to 
be avoided whenever possible. A woman desires 
always the man she loves; but he, forsooth, de- 
134 


Passing of the Illusion 

sires her only when he so chooses. The door she 
would bar he would leave open. What’s the 
use of my trying to be good? No man will 
allow it.” 

She stopped, her eyes flashing with scorn ; and 
Barry gazed at her in blank astonishment. Was 
this the woman whose docility he had at times 
thought almost contemptible? 

He felt embarrassed and uncomfortable. It 
had not occurred to him that May would wish 
him to marry her. She had tested him, and he 
had been found wanting. She had done more — 
by revealing him to himself, she made him see 
clearly that he did not love her — that he could 
not. 

He spoke, however, with increased respect. 

You forget,” he said, “ that many women are 
not the ideal domestic creatures you would have 
them. Some desire freedom just as strongly as 
does a man. Moreover, you cannot deny that 
even domestic women are also romantic. And 
what romance, pray, is there in marriage? The 
day a woman marries a man she loses him; for 
where one man loves his wife, a thousand love 
135 


The Short Cut 

women who are not their wives. Wedlock’s a 
cold nurse to Cupid.” 

“ You prove black white,” said May wearily. 
“ Are there no good women? ” 

“I suppose there are,” replied Barry; “and 
there are also bad wives who would make ideal 
sweethearts. At all events,” cynically, “ a wom- 
an is never satisfied. Single, she wishes to get 
married; a wife, she longs to become a widow; 
then she wants another husband, and so on. She 
is content only in the state she is not — ^that is, she 
is never content.” 

May shuddered. “ If all men held your the- 
ories what woman would be virtuous? ” she 
asked. 

“ The virtue of a woman,” Fred answered, 
“ depends on herself, and not on any man. If 
she wishes to keep her virtue no man can take it 
from her; but if she cares little for it, she will 
give it to almost the first bidder. A woman re- 
mains good if she is good; but if she is bad no- 
body can save her from herself. It is as easy to 
grow an oak from a seed of henbane as to develop 
a good character from one naturally bad.” 

136 


Passing of the Illusion 

“ You believe, then,” said May, rather flip- 
pantly, “ that there’s no hope for the wicked.” 

“ I beheve there is hope for anyone who is not 
wholly bad ; and, fortunately, a very few are that. 
Wickedness has a way of destroying itself ; and 
often, after wild oats have been sown, as they say, 
there comes a reaction toward better things. In 
short, whether conduct is generally good, or gen- 
erally bad, depends wholly on whether one’s gen- 
eral character is good or bad. But there is no 
truth more certain than that, ultimately, every 
nature settles into the environment that is proper 
to it, or that accords with its character. 

“ ^larriage is an institution designed to curb 
man’s brutahty — to prevent his desertion of a 
woman after he has created responsibihties which 
both should bear equally. I see clearly the jus- 
tice of marriage; and I see how an ideally good 
man and an ideally good woman might be hap- 
py, though married. But, not being an ideally 
good man myself, and not believing that there is 
any such thing as an ideally good woman, I don’t 
care to risk lifelong misery for her and for myself 
by marrying anyone. Let us go, dear.” 

137 


CHAPTER XIII 


DISINTEGRATION 

A BENEFICENT law of nature prescribes that 
intense joy shall have a certain hmitation in time; 
otherwise, results would be disastrous. For a full 
week the lovers lived only in themselves; then 
Barry’s passion cooled, and even May experi- 
enced moments of ennui. 

It was at this time that the difference in the 
sentiments of the two became manifest. On the 
one side was passion without love, essentially ego- 
istic, consuming itself; on the other was passion 
stimulated by love, and therefore more enduring. 
Hence it was inevitable that there should be re- 
spectively boredom and disappointment. Spats 
became frequent, during which she complained 
and he explained. 

One afternoon, after declaring that engage- 
ments would prevent his seeing her for several 
138 


Disintegration 

days, he abruptly left her and went to the gym- 
nasium. 

Holbrook was lying at full length on the sofa 
smoking. “ That you, old man? ” he ejaculated 
as his chum entered. “ Where Ve you been keep- 
ing yourself — or rather, whom have you been 
keeping? ” 

‘‘ I met the girl you hoped I wouldn’t meet,” 
said Fred shortly. 

‘‘ Humph. Tired of her already? ” 

“ I’m afraid I am — a little.” 

“Afraid? You’re lucky to get off so easily.” 

“ I haven’t gotten off.” 

“No matter. You will. Violent love never 
lasts.” 

“ Is there such a thing? ” 

“ Love is a word conventionally agreed upon 
to describe an emotion which undoubtedly exists 
in the minds of some persons,” replied Holbrook 
judiciously. “ But it is remarkably short-lived, 
and, strange to say, the stronger it is, the less en- 
> durance it has.” 

“Not always. One sees old couples who are 
most loving.” 


139 


The Short Cut 


“ You mean ‘ affectionate.’ When love per- 
sists, it degenerates into affection.” 

Fred laughed. ‘‘ Is affection, then, a sign of 
degeneracy? You had better said, ‘ love mellows 
into affection.’ But I’m not in love with her, old 
man. True love, if there is such a thing, is, I 
think, a passion with affection. I have the pas- 
sion without the affection; for when my blood’s 
hot I feel sure that I love her, but soon she bores 
me and I want to get away from her.” 

‘‘ You certainly don’t love her, then,” said 
Frank decidedly. “ A woman not loved in cold 
blood is not loved at all. You’d be miserable were 
you married to her.” 

“ I know I should,” Fred assented. “ She 
hinted marriage once; but I couldn’t see it.” 

“ Passion,” remarked Frank, “ is a delightful 
delusion — a trick of nature to insure pro- 
creation; but it is destructive to the happiness 
of the individual. The happiest men and the 
happiest and best wives and mothers are not 
passionate. 

“ But, to change the subject, the ‘ melancholic ’ 
was here about an hour ago — so was George. He 
140 


Disintegration 

and I — that is, George and I — ^were philosophiz- 
ing about happiness, when the ‘ melancholic ’ 
gave us some of his views. They were pessimistic, 
of course, and rather tiresome.” 

“ What did he say? ” 

“ Oh, that happiness was a chimaera, a mere 
figment of the brain. He acknowledged, how- 
ever, that there were some deluded persons who 
imagined for a time that they were happy; but, 
he said, there was no ca^e on record of the illusion 
continuing for long. He said that he himself 
had never been happy, not even at odd moments. 
Then he reminisced of his young days. It ap- 
pears that he was then miserable because he was 
not in love; and that, later on, when he had got 
into that desperate condition, he was a hundred 
times more miserable. 

“ ‘ We’re never satisfied,’ he declared. ‘ Some 
feel that they would be content had they one other 
blessing, and perhaps one day it is granted; but 
meanwhile they have lost a former one and are 
still imhappy. Instance money that youth covets 
and would enjoy, coming usually after work has 
aged us and abstracted our capacity for pleasure. 

141 


The Short Cut 


And even complete happiness, if we could experi- 
ence it, wouldn’t last — ^the most lively pleasure 
ends by boring us.’ 

“ ‘ That is true,’ said I, ‘ only of any one unin- 
terrupted pleasure, as the hearing eternally of a 
piece of beautiful music. Sensations of pleasure, 
like other sensations, expend nerve force, and are 
soon exhausted, of course. But any man who ex- 
pects always to derive pleasure from the playing 
of one tune on the same instrument has my sym- 
pathy.’ 

“ Well, Fred, he continued in the same strain 
for so long that he ended by boring me. While 
the old man is at times diverting, he is often tire- 
some, and always depressing.” 

“ Nevertheless there is something in what he 
says,” Barry observed. “ A week since I expected 
to go on loving May forever.” 

“ Passion is the most sempiternal-appearing 
sentiment in the world — ^while it exists. But as 
soon as you gratify it — presto! you find yourself 
wondering whence it came and whither it has 
gone.” 

“ If that’s the case,” said Barry lightly, “ come 
142 


Disintegration 

home and dine with me — I’m alone to- 
night.” 

After dinner the chums adjourned to Fred’s 
den. 

Frank glanced curiously at the nickeled dumb- 
bells. “ How much do those things weigh? ” he 
asked. 

“ About eighty-five poimds.” 

“ Together? ” 

“ Each.” 

“ They’re quite ornamental.” 

“ And useful.” 

“ You don’t use ’em much, do you? I doubt if 
I could shoulder them, much less put them up.” 

“ Probably not.” 

Frank, somewhat nettled, threw off his coat. 
But so soon as he had swung the bells clear of the 
floor he dropped them. “ I’ve eaten too much 
dinner,” he apologized. 

“ You mean, not enough beef.” 

Then Barry, dressed as he was, tossed the great 
weights to his shoulders as though they were 
made of w^ood, and pushed them up twice to 
straight arm above his head. 

143 


The Short Cut 


“By all the fiends! — You are strong!” Hol- 
brook cried admiringly. 

It was not the first time he had seen his chum 
lift weights, but he had never realized as now 
what enormous strength Fred really possessed. 

“ Come out,” said Barry restlessly. 

“ Where? ” 

“ Ask me something easy. God knows where 
we’ll fetch up, but He won’t tell.” 

A while later the men were strolling leisurely 
down Broadway. They had reached Twenty- 
eighth Street, when Fred noticed a neatly 
gowned, aggressively pretty brunette making di- 
rectly toward them. 

For a moment, although her face seemed 
strangely familiar, he was unable to place her. 
She, however, was troubled with no such uncer- 
tainty. “ How de do,” she said, her hand out- 
stretched. 

Barry now recognized “ that horrid woman ” 
against whom May had warned him; and replied 
coolly. 

“ Where are you bound? ” Florence asked. 

“ Nowhere.” 


144 


Disintegration 

“ Mayn’t I go, too? ” 

“ As you like.” 

“ Put me next, dummy,” growled Holbrook 
in an imdertone, mightily displeased at his 
friend’s churlishness to such a pretty and alto- 
gether fascinating creature. 

“ What’s your name? ” Fred asked shortly. 

“ Cantor — Florence Cantor,” she replied 
sweetly. 

“ Miss Cantor, Mr. Holbrook.” 

“ Delighted to meet you, I’m sure,” Florence 
murmured. 

Holbrook said some suitable nothing; then in- 
vited the party to have a drink. 

They entered a resort, where they were met by 
a grave individual, and led upstairs to a room, 
which Barry remembered once to have occupied 
with May. 

Immediately they were seated, Holbrook or- 
dered club sandwiches and a quart of wine. That 
he was much taken with Florence soon became 
apparent; nor could Fred help being secretly 
amused at the easy way in which his chum had 
capitulated. 


145 


The Short Cut 


But Florence, on her part, seemed hardly 
aware that Frank Holbrook existed; but kept 
her eyes fixed steadfastly on Fred, who, to do him 
justice, avoided her gaze as much as possible. 

“ Why don’t you fill the glasses, waiter? ” Hol- 
brook complained. 

“ The bottle’s empty, sir.” 

“ Then get another. I’m dry as a desert.” 

“ So you wish an oasis of champagne,” said \ 
Fred, smiling. 

“ There are oases still more sweet,” remarked 
Florence. 

Barry remained silent. His blood was heated, 
and he dared not even look at her. 

“ Kiss me,” she said imperiously, approaching 
him. 

Had she been less beautiful, and he not so 
young, his resistance had been more strenuous. 
Their lips met. 

Meanwhile neither had heard the door open; 
nor were they conscious that some one had en- 
tered and stood watching them. 

A surprised cry from Holbrook caused Barry 
to turn. “ May! ” he gasped, springing to his feet. 

146 


Disintegration 

“ Pray, don’t let me disturb you,” said his 
sweetheart, who appeared outwardly calm. “ The 
proprietor told me you were here with another 
gentleman. I didn’t know — ” She stopped sig- 
nificantly. 

“ Go,” Fred whispered to Florence. 

“ But ” 

“ Go,” he repeated. 

She thought it better to obey; so went out, 
closely followed by Frank Holbrook. 

“ May, I did not enter this place of my own 
will. We met that devilish woman purely by 
chance, and my friend insisted that we come in 
here and have a drink.” 

“ Was it by chance she kissed you? ” 

“No — that is — I don’t know — the wine — 
damn it — I tried my best to keep clear of her.” 

“ Poor boy! ” said May softly. “ I understand 
— you can’t help it. I must go.” She moved to- 
ward the door. 

“ When shall I see you again? ” 

“ To-morrow.” 

“ That never comes.” 

“ Our to-days are over.” 

147 


The Short Cut 


“ Why?” 

“ Nothing will ever be the same.” 

“ But you will meet me? ” 

“ Yes — ^to-morrow.” 

“ You promise? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Where? ” 

“ In my own room.” 

“ At what time? ” 

“ Three o’clock.” 

Her terrific calm maddened him, and he burst 
out: “May, for God’s sake, don’t be like this. 
Say what you think — that you hate me, that I 

am a liar, a scoundrel, a ” 

“ But you are not,” she interrupted. “ You 
are a mere man.” 

He crushed her in his arms. 

“ Don’t — you hurt me.” 

“ Swear that you will keep your promise.” 

“ Is not my word enough? ” 

He felt his utter impotency and released her. 

“ Good-bye — ^till to-morrow.” And, smiling 
enigmatically, she passed out. 


148 


CHAPTER XIV 


A PROPOSAL AND A SLANDER 

During the time that the events recorded in 
the last chapter were taking place, a stirring 
scene was being enacted in the home of Marion 
Leeds. 

The family had finished dinner, and were dis- 
posed, variously occupied, about the drawing- 
room; Mr. Leeds with an evening newspaper, 
and Mrs. Leeds with the latest “ best seller,” 
while John was wrestling with the intricacies of 
a critical treatise on theology. Marion, seated in 
a far corner under the bright light of a yellow- 
shaded lamp, was crocheting a worsted sacque for 
a child in the “ sick and destitute ” family of 
which Fred Barry had told her. 

Suddenly Mr. Leeds threw aside his paper 
and said abruptly to his daughter: “ Marion, your 
mother has informed me that Mr. Westervelt is 
to call here to-night. He is a very estimable 
149 


The Short Cut 

young man, well-born, rich, and he has brilliant 
prospects.” 

“ Oh, dear,” sighed Marion, “ I wish that all 
rich young men were not ‘ estimable,’ and that 
just a few were themselves more brilliant than 
their prospects.” 

Mr. Leeds frowned. “ You are flippant,” he 
said severely. “ But you must know that you 
will marry some time; and not any day will you 
meet a man like Percy Westervelt. His habits 
are good, and he would make an excellent hus- 
band.” 

“No doubt — excellent for somebody,” said 
Marion ; “ but not for me. I shall never marry 
a man I do not love.” 

“Fudge!” ejaculated Mr. Leeds impatiently. 
“ What should a well-brought-up young lady 
know of love? Time enough to learn about that 
after you’re married.” 

Mrs. Leeds had put aside her book, and now 
nodded approvingly. “ Yes, Marion,” said she, 
“ your father is right. The main thing is to 
marry a gentleman in — er — your own set, who 
has money enough to maintain you in the posi- 
150 


A Proposal and a Slander 

tion in society which your father and I have ob- 
tained for you.” 

“ Society ! ” exclaimed Marion. “ What is 
just Society? There are societies for the pre- 
vention of cruelty to children, and to animals; 
antivivisection societies, charitable, societies, tu- 
berculosis societies. All those have at least some 
purpose. But what purpose has the Society to 
which you say I belong? It teaches one to 
waste time gracefully, to be polite to, and even 
to seek, those for whom one cares nothing, to 
shun responsibility, not to work and to despise 
those who do, not to think nor to say anything 
that might make others think; indeed, our Soci- 
ety, so far as I can see, unmakes men and women 
into snobs.” 

Further discussion was interrupted by a ring- 
ing of the doorbell. 

“ There is Mr. Westervelt now,” said Mrs. 
Leeds, straightening herself. “Now do be nice, 
Marion. I know you didn’t mean what you just 
said.” And she ended plaintively: “Percy is 
such a sweet fellow; I don’t see why you can’t 
like him.” 


151 


The Short Cut 


Mr. Leeds had hastily gotten up and left the 
room, followed by John. 

“ Mr. Westervelt wishes to see Miss Leeds,” 
said the butler, standing at the door. 

“ Ask him please to come upstairs into the 
drawing-room, James,” said Mrs. Leeds. 

A few minutes afterwards Mr. Westervelt 
came in, shook hands with Mrs. Leeds, inquired 
solicitously about her health, and then went over 
to Marion, who greeted him rather coldly. 

“ Won’t you sit down, Mr. Westervelt? ” asked 
Mrs. Leeds graciously. “ Marion will entertain 
you while I attend to some household matters. 
You know ” — ^with a smile as she left the room — 
“ a woman’s work is never done.” 

Alone with Marion, Percy Westervelt did not 
know just what to say. He was naturally rather 
bashful, and Marion was now looking at him in 
a direct way, which added to his embarrassment. 
“ Your ball was a brilliant success, Miss Leeds,” 
he began nervously. 

“ Yes,” said Marion with affected enthusiasm, 
“ it went off very well.” How she hated that 
ball, and wished her mother had not given it! 

152 


A Proposal and a Slander 

“ Mar — Miss Leeds, I have long wished for an 
opportunity of speaking with you alone,” he 
managed to say. 

“ In — deed, Mr. Westervelt. Why, what im- 
portant secret have you to impart to me? ” She 
spoke mockingly, but instantly regretted the 
opening she had given him. 

“ The secret of my love,” he answered quickly. 
“ Marion, do you not know — have you not seen 
how much I care for you? I love you, Marion, 
and if you will be my wife, I will do my utmost 
to make you happy. I am not poor, and what- 
ever I have is yours to do with as you choose.” 

She felt a thrill of pity for him. At least he 
had made his declaration in a manly way. “ Mr. 
Westervelt,” she said gently, “ believe me, I am 
sorry that you feel toward me — that way. But 
I cannot marry you, because I would not do you 
that injustice. I could never make you happy — 
I am not worthy of you.” 

He looked bewildered. “ What do you mean — 
‘ not worthy of me ’ ? ” 

“No woman,” replied Marion, “ is worthy of 
being the wife of a man who loves her unless she 
153 


The Short Cut 


loves him; and, though I respect and like you, I 
do not love you.” 

His face paled, and the hand he raised nerv^- 
ously to his throat, which had contracted, shook 
as he answered, the words coming with difficulty : 
“It is too much to expect that you should love 
me now; but do you know that you never will? ” 

“ I know that I never will,” she repeated 
gravely. “ Eveiy woman knows intuitively 
whom she could not — and whom she could — 
love.” 

“ Ah! — I see; there is some one else. Is — is it 
Mr. Barry? ” He put the question humbly, hesi- 
tatingly; but its effect startled him. 

Marion flushed crimson; then rose from her 
chair and pointed toward the door. “ Go! ” she 
commanded, her voice vibrant with indignation; 
“ and never dare to speak to me again ! ” 

“ Forgive me,” he said miserably. “ I did not 
mean to offend you.” 

Her face softened and the rigid poise of her 
figure relaxed — ^the beautiful statue had warmed 
into a living Galatea. “ You are forgiven,” she 
said simply. “ Good night, Mr. Westervelt. 

154 


A Proposal and a Slander 

Forget me, and love some one who will love you, 
and who will make you happier than I ever 
could.” 

He bowed, without speaking, and withdrew. 

She listened dully to his receding footsteps, 
heard the front door close, and knew that at last 
he had gone. Then her pent emotion burst forth, 
and she dropped sobbing into a chair. 

“ Why, Marion — child, what is the matter? ” 
cried her mother, coming hastily into the room. 

Marion neither spoke nor looked up. 

‘‘ Did Mr. Westervelt propose to you? ” Mrs. 
Leeds asked curiously. 

“ Yes, he did,” replied Marion, making a 
strong effort to control herself, “ and I refused 
him.” 

At that moment Mr. Leeds and John came in. 

“ You refused him, eh! ” commented her father 
angrily. “ Well, you did a very foolish thing.” 

“ She refused him, perhaps, because she cares 
for some one else,” put in John maliciously. “ But 
if that some one is Mr. Fred Barry, I can tell 
her that her affection is wasted, for he certainly 
doesn’t care for her.” 


155 


The Short Cut 


White with anger, Marion turned toward her 
brother and said scathingly, “ You know as little 
about my regard for Mr. Barry as of his for 
me.” 

“ I know,” said John doggedly, “ that Mr. 
Barry has been going about town with a notorious 
woman for the past two weeks.” 

“How did you learn that?” asked Mr. 
Leeds. 

“ Men who have seen him with her have told 
me,” John answered. 

“ John,” said Marion, “ you are my brother, 
but I feel for you the utmost contempt. You are 
studying theology, which supposedly teaches 
charity; yet you would smudge the fair name of 
your friend, and wound and humiliate your sis- 
ter — if you could. But you cannot, for I respect 
and admire Mr. Barry neither more nor less than 
I did yesterday. What your gentlemen friends 
have told you is either a foul slander, or else Mr. 
Barry could, if he were called upon, explain his 
presence anywhere.” 

“ Marion,” interposed Mr. Leeds sternly, “ you 
may or may not believe your brother, but I do 
156 


A Proposal and a Slander 

believe him, and I forbid you to receive Fred 
Barry here, or ever to see him again.” 

“ If you have all said all you wish to say,” said 
Marion wearily, “ I beg that you will all leave 
me. I wish to be alone.” 


157 


CHAPTER XV 


ASHES SHALT THOU EAT 

Barry was hardly surprised when, upon in- 
quiring for May the next afternoon, he was in- 
formed that she had given up her room that morn- 
ing. She had left no address ; only a letter, which 
he read later in a cafe. It said : 

“ Dearest: I have not lied to you. I prom- 
ised to meet you ‘ to-morrow ’ ; but, as you said, 

‘ that day never comes.’ I am determined to see 
you no more. This may make you unhappy, for 
a time, but I cannot help it. Be patient and your 
disappointment will pass. As you know nothing 
about me, and as I wish you not to think of me 
too harshly, I shall tell you somewhat of my life 
before I met you. 

“ My father was a New Yorker, cultured and 
a gentleman. He married a shopgirl. Having 
much faith in education, he sent me when very 
young to a first-class boarding school, where I 
remained until I was eighteen. I then returned 
158 


“ Ashes Shalt Thou Eat ” 


home — ^to find it sadly changed. My father, once 
happy and prosperous, had become, through un- 
fortunate speculations, bankrupt. My mother 
died soon after. Father grew gloomy and irrita- 
ble, and began to drink heavily. At last, becom- 
ing desperate, he robbed the bank which employed 
him. For this crime he was arrested, tried, and 
convicted. He died in prison. 

“ So, at the age of twenty, I was thrown upon 
the world with no one, and nothing to help me 
but a fairly good education. While looking for 
work, I one day happened into the office of a 
wealthy lawyer. He appeared to like me, and 
promised to give me employment. Instead, he 
ruined me. F or a year I lived with him care-free 
and, in a superficial way, happy; then we quar- 
reled and separated, when it became work, starve, 
or get somebody else. I had grown too indolent 
to work; I lacked the courage to starve, so — I 
got some one else. Thus I drifted into the vortex 
of the fearful life in which you found me. 

“ One time I was stopping with a girl friend 
overnight, when I saw her take from the bureau 
drawer a small bottle filled with a colorless liquid. 
‘ Do you know,’ she exclaimed, ‘ a few drops of 
this would will a man — or a woman — instantly 
and without pain. It acts by paralyzing the 
159 


The Short Cut 


heart. I got it from a chemist. But I intend to 
throw it away, because often, especially when I’m 
blue, I feel a morbid desire to take some of it.’ 

“ Half jesting, I asked her to give it to me. 
She refused, but put it back into the drawer, from 
which I took it the next day. 

“ Fred, why couldn’t you love me? For, that 
you did not, I know. Is it that I was too loving? 
Or is there some one else? — But why should I 
care? A little love, a little happiness, and after 
— death. A little misery, a little pain, and after 
— death. What difference? Only that in one 
case death is brutal; in the other, kind. Without 
you life seems impossible, and with you it would 
be equally impossible; for, as I no longer have 
faith, I should make you miserable. So of what 
use to live? 

“ I knew not what love was until you taught 
me, showing me, at the same time, my complete 
degradation. Thereafter, to raise myself so as 
to be fit to live with you as your wife, became my 
ambition. Last night waked me from that 
dream’s madness, and I now see the utter folly 
of expecting a heaven on this sad earth. My 
heart’s a weightful complaining thing which I 
would were dead. I love you. How poor that 
sounds! Yet it’s all I can say. I leave you — for 
160 


‘‘ Ashes Shalt Thou Eat ” 


your sake, knowing that love has never made the 
unloving happy. May.” 

“ Waiter, a whiskey,” said Fred hoarsely. 

The drink brought, he gulped it and started to 
his feet. His first thought was to find Frank 
Holbrook. He would understand and tell him 
what he should do. 

A party of young men entered and pushed 
past him, all talking noisily of some woman. One 
thought her hips too narrow; another her bust 
too small; while a third avowed she was perfect. 
In the same way they would have discussed a 
horse they fancied. 

Barry rushed to the street. 

Arrived at Holbrook’s, he ran past the butler 
and upstairs. He found Frank in his study 
perusing a large volume of Schopenhauer. 

“Read that!” Fred exclaimed, thrusting the 
fatal letter into his friend’s hand. 

Holbrook calmly lighted a cigar; then un- 
folded the missive and read it through. 

“ She writes a fair letter,” he remarked. 

“ If she should kill herself I would never get 
over it.” 


161 


The Short Cut 


“ Nor would she,” said Frank dryly. “ But 
there’s no danger. Have a smoke, Fred; you’re 
excited.” He threw Barry his cigar-case. “ That 
woman doesn’t love you, and never did ; moreover, 
there’s not the remotest chance of her committing 
suicide— at least, on your account.” 

Fred looked relieved. ‘‘ You don’t think her 
letter sincere, then? ” 

“It may be sincere enough; but she has de- 
ceived herself. She believes that she loves you 
and, being a woman, wishes to appear noble and 
self-sacrificing; hence the hint of suicide, coupled 
with her resigned renunciation of you. At times 
her language is poetically pretty, but it is prac- 
tically untrue; for no woman who loves absolute- 
ly will desert a man because of a mere suspicion, 
or because she fears his disposition to be such 
that she cannot make him happy. Love bears 
all things, dares all things, believes all things. 
Distrust does not kill it, nor does indifference, 
which love has faith to conquer. A reasoning 
love is never absolute, and May reasons, not to 
say calculates, too much. That you did not 
love her was proved by your acknowledging 
162 


“ Ashes Shalt Thou Eat ” 

several days ago that she was beginning to bore 
you.” 

Were you ever in love? ” 

Holbrook’s face darkened as he answered; 
“ Once ; and I shall never love again. The girl 
was poor and of mean parentage, but she had a 
refinement of soul conferred by neither wealth 
nor high birth. She knew me more thoroughly 
than I knew myself ; and to know me still better, 
she read the books I read, studied what I stud- 
ied, and thought what I thought. I was to have 
married her. — She died — ” His voice broke and 
stopped. 

“ Dear old chum, I’m so sorry.” Fred had 
leaned forward and grasped his friend’s hand, his 
own troubles appearing all at once contemptible. 

“ Some persons envy me,” Frank continued. 
“ They say I have youth and health and fortune; 
yet I would give up all for her I lost.” 

“ Frank, let’s quit? ” 

“ What?” 

“Women. You made a play, staked every- 
thing and lost. And so did I.” 

“ Whom did you lose? ” 

163 


The Short Cut 


“ Marion Leeds.” 

Both smoked silently; then Frank said, 
“ What occurred that night? ” 

“ I prefer not to speak of it.” 

“You know her cousin’s going back to the 
Philippines? ” 

“ Her cousin? ” 

“ Yes ; a distant one. Have you never met him? 
His name’s Westervelt. He’s a lieutenant in the 
army, and rumor has it that he was engaged to 
Marion a year ago, just before his regiment was 
ordered to the islands.” 

Barry sprang from his chair. “ I don’t be- 
lieve it,” he cried. “ It isn’t conceivable that a 
woman like Marion could ever have promised 
herself to such a miserable, apologetic, ineffectual 
miscarriage of nature.” 

“ Easy, Fred. Don’t get so excited. Wester- 
velt isn’t a bad fellow. True, his expression is a 
trifle vacuous, and his body might be the better 
for a few pints of blood; but one cannot have 
everything, and he has loads of money. In fact, 
he’s a very desirable partL But I thought you 
didn’t know him? ” 


164 


“ Ashes Shalt Thou Eat ” 

‘‘ I don’t ; but I saw him in the conservatory at 
that damned ball.” For Fred now felt certain 
that it was this “ cousin ” who had behaved so 
outrageously. 

“ Was he alone? ” 

“ Does any man go alone to a conserva- 
tory? ” 

“ You did, didn’t you? ” 

Barry did not answer. Then, suddenly: 
“ Frank, I’ll tell you what happened that night. 
I went alone to the conservatory, and at the 
far end of it I saw that dope, Westervelt, and 
Marion.” 

“ He was enough awake to get Marion into 
the conservatory,” Holbrook observed. 

“ They didn’t know I was there,” Fred con- 
tinued; “and presently I saw that brute stoop 
and kiss Marion on the cheek.” 

“ You wouldn’t have been such a brute,” mur- 
mured Frank; “you’d have kissed her on the 
mouth.” 

“ Quit kidding,” said Barry impatiently. “ I 
tell you I was disgusted.” 

“ To see a man kiss a girl, particularly when 
165 


The Short Cut 

you’d like to do the trick yourself, certainly is 
disgusting.” 

“ Dry up, Frank. What disgusted me most 
was to see the readiness with which she forgave 
him.” 

“ Wouldn’t you forgive a good-looking wom- 
an who kissed you? ” 

“Good Lord I You don’t call Westervelt good- 
looking? ” 

“ Almost any man looks good to a woman. 
No; I don’t mean that. Just a little joke. Seri- 
ously, I don’t know whether Marion was ever en- 
gaged to Westervelt or not, but I do know that 
she gave him the cold eye a few days ago, and 
that that is the reason for his intended redepar- 
ture to the savages.” 

“ Who told you all that? ”* 

“John; and he seemed greatly chagrined 
about it.” 

“The small-minded bigot! Frank, I’m a 
fool.” 

“ For throwing Marion? I agree with you. 
She’s a thoroughbred, and I think she cares.” 

“ Bah! I’m not fit to look at her. The way of 
166 


“ Ashes Shalt Thou Eat ” 

the transgressor is Hell, and no mistake. Here- 
after I’m going to try to make people better and 
happier, instead of worse and more miserable; 
then, perhaps, I shall be somewhat less unworthy 
of a good woman.” 

“ Sin has its attractions,” observed Holbrook. 

“ Oh, yes,” Fred answered. “ Sin affects silks 
and soft smiles, beckons with rosy fingers, fur- 
nishes nectar for palates and palaces for sports 
— all which make its quick-fading magnificence 
appear the more hideous at last. For a time 
those who will may sleep in a world of sensations 
that saps every God-given attribute necessary to 
happiness; but these must awaken finally, cursed 
with the memory of past delights which they are 
ever powerless to renew. Such creatures are 
about us everywhere, hating women, avoiding 
men, taking no interest in anything, and yet 
wishing for they don’t know what. We call them 
‘ blase." The doorbell rang. Do you expect 
anyone? ” 

“No; but it’s the unexpected that happens. 
— Hello, John.” Holbrook rose and shook hands 
with John Leeds. 


167 


The Short Cut 


“ Pardon me for entering so unceremoniously. 
I thought you were alone.” 

“ I am,” laughed Frank. “ We two are one,” 
and he threw his arm affectionately around Fred. 

John looked straight at Barry. “ I request 
you not to visit my sister,” he said slowly. 

Holbrook reddened with anger. “ Explain 
yourself, Leeds.” 

“ I spoke to Mr. Barry,” said John calmly. 
“ He has been seen about town with a fast wom- 
an and ” 

“ When you insult him you insult me,” roared 
Frank. “ Fred Barry is my friend.” 

“ Did you — say that to your sister? ” Barry 
asked almost inaudibly. 

“ Yes, and to her father; and he forbade her to 
see you.” 

Holbrook snapped his fingers. “ That for 
his forbidding. The point is, did she believe 
you? ” 

“ Marion is too pure-minded even to compre- 
hend evil,” answered her brother. “ She said she 
couldn’t believe it.” 

Barry’s eyes grew dim. “ You’re right, John,” 
168 


“ Ashes Shalt Thou Eat ” 

he said huskily, “I’m not worthy of your sister 
nor of any good woman. Good night, Frank.” 

“ You sha’n’t go,” cried Holbrook, placing his 
back to the door. “ And now,” turning to 
Leeds, “ if your business with my friend is fin- 
ished, you may leave; and I advise you to read 
the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, be- 
ginning at the fourth verse.” 

John colored as he said haughtily: “ Charity 
begins at home; and I should first be charitable 
toward my sister rather than to a man who has 
destroyed her peace.” 

“ Stop ! ” Barry caught Leeds by the arm. 
“ What do you mean? ” 

“ Let him go,” said Holbrook. 

“ What do you suppose he meant? ” asked 
Fred, after Leeds had gone. 

“ That Marion is in love with you, and that he 
will do his damnedest to prevent your seeing her,” 
answered Frank. 


169 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE WAGES OF SIN 

On the morning after Fred had received 
May’s letter a beautiful young woman in a dark 
tailor-made suit might have been seen threading 
her way through the downtown shopping dis- 
trict. In front of a huge retail establishment she 
paused, pondered, advanced, then hesitated; but 
finally she resolutely pushed through the big 
swinging doors. 

“ I wish to see the superintendent, please,” she 
said to a floorwalker who was standing near the 
entrance. 

“Certainly,” he replied; “kindly step this 
way.” And he showed her upstairs and into a 
little room, where, behind a desk, sat a small, 
sharp-eyed man writing. 

“ Have a seat,” muttered the superintendent 
without deigning to look up. 

170 


The Wages of Sin 

The visitor sat down. 

“ Now what can I do for you? ” he said pres- 
ently. He had finished writing, and was lolling 
back in his chair, with his thumbs stuck into the 
armholes of his waistcoat. 

‘‘ I have come to apply for a position here,” 
said the comely stranger. 

“ Hum-m. — Ever sold goods? ” 

No, but I think I could.” 

“ Think you could, eh? ” he repeated, looking 
shrewdly at the bewitchingly pretty face. “ Well, 
I think you could myself. To tell the truth, I 
believe you’d attract customers, and perhaps 
make ’em spend a little. How much do you 
want? ” 

“ What you usually pay.” 

‘‘ I usually pay beginners eight dollars, but 
I’ll give you ten. Report to-morrow morning at 
eight o’clock. I’ll assign you to the women’s 
coat department, where I’ll put you in the charge 
of a lady who’ll soon learn you the ropes.” 

“ Thank you.” 

“Ten dollars seems little enough; but” — he 
eyed her narrowly — “ a good-looking woman like 

171 


The Short Cut 


you might probably make a little extra — get a 
feller or two on the side.” 

“ I came here for a position, and not to be in- 
sulted,” said the fair applicant coldly. 

“Why, yes; of course. No offense meant, I 
assure you. What’s your name? ” 

“ May — Brown.” 

“ Where d’ye live? ” 

She gave her address. 

“ All right. Report at eight to-morrow. Good 
morning.” 

May Brown’s duties in the coat department 
were especially arduous during the first week. 
She was not accustomed to hard work, nor to 
being called to account, by women inferior to her 
both in refinement and education, for every trivial 
mistake. 

To be at the shop, ready to wait upon custom- 
ers at eight o’clock, she had to rise at six. Then, 
after being on her feet all day, trying on coats 
and enduring the significant glances of men who 
accompanied their wives or sweethearts osten- 
sibly to get them fine garments, but really to 
prevent their purchasing those that were too fine, 
172 


The Wages of Sin 

she was completely exhausted when night came 
and she was released. 

It seemed, too, that all the petty vanity and 
meanness in human nature showed themselves 
naked and unashamed in her department. All 
wanted handsome coats; but few wished to pay 
a handsome price. Bargains were eagerly and 
perennially sought. There were, however, some 
extravagant customers, lavish spenders of an- 
other’s money. There were also mean, but gen- 
erous-to-self customers, who would have fine 
clothes, if their children went naked and their 
husbands bankrupt. 

One poor man begged his wife, whom May 
waited on one morning, not to get an expensive 
pony-skin coat; but she only laughed and hinted 
that if he did not get it for her some one else 
would. He got it. 

As a rule, the plainer the woman, the vainer 
and more particular she was, the obtuseness she 
displayed toward her own ugliness being often- 
times even thicker than her complexion. One 
afternoon a stout, coarse-looking, frumpish wom- 
an came in, accompanied by a meek-looking lit- 
173 


The Short Cut 


tie man, evidently her husband. Posed before a 
cheval glass she tried on perhaps a half -score of 
coats. Suddenly she espied May, who possessed 
a perfectly proportioned figure, standing a little 
distance off. Immediately she summoned the 
fioorwalker and asked if she could have ‘‘ that 
young woman over there ” wait on her. 

“ Miss Brown,” called the fioorwalker, “ here.” 

“ I’d like to have you wait on me,” the stout 
customer explained, with a wide smile, as May 
approached, “ because your figure is so much like 
mine that I can see better how these coats look 
on me by seeing them on you. Won’t you try on 
this one, please? ” and she handed May the latest 
fearful and wonderful design in coat-making. 

May demurely put it on; then twisted herself 
about in every direction, paraded back and forth, 
presented her full front, three-quarter front, side 
view, back, three-quarter back, etc., until the 
woman went into ecstasies over the coat’s mani- 
fold beauties. 

“ My land! ” she kept repeating. ‘‘ That cer- 
tainly becomes you wonderful. Does it look as 
good on me, Henry? ” — turning to her husband. 

174 


The Wages of Sin 

“ J ust as good, my dear,” Henry replied 
promptly. “ In fact ” — with a sly wink at May, 
who could hardly forbear laughing — “ I think it 
looks even better on j^ou.” 

“ I guess I’ll take that coat,” said the lady. 
“ How much is it? ” 

“ One hundred and forty-nine dollars,” replied 
May. “ It’s the biggest bargain we have. 
Marked down from one hundred and ninety- 
eight.” 

“Whew!” exclaimed Henry, who was not 
without a sense of humor. “ I should say it was 
a big bargain. Haven’t you some smaller bar- 
gain for, say, forty-nine dollars? ” 

“ Henry, shut up ! ” put in his wife sharply. 
“ Don’t try to be funny. I’ll take that coat or 
none.” 

That settled it. May wrote' down the cus- 
tomer’s name and address, and the sale was 
effected. 

One evening May was walking slowly toward 
home after a particularly hard day, feeling more 
tired and depressed than usual. Though she 
now had regular employment she was not happy. 

175 


The Short Cut 


She often thought of Fred Barry, and the call of 
the wild White Way was becoming an obsession. 
How insufferably dull her life was! The same 
dreary grind day after day. 

In this mood she suddenly became aware that 
a man was following her. Every now and again 
he would quicken his pace and walk beside her, 
casting sidelong glances in a not wholly vain 
attempt to attract her notice. He was well 
dressed and appeared to be a gentleman. 

“ Where have I seen him before? ” said May 
to herself. His face seemed strangely familiar. 

Suddenly she turned and held out her hand. 
‘‘ Are you not Harry Graham? ” she asked, recol- 
lecting him perfectly now as a man she had once 
known and liked very much. 

“May French!” he exclaimed. “How glad 
I am to see you! ” 

“ And I am just as glad to see you,” she said 
simply. 

“Where have you been all this time? But 
never mind that. Where are you living now? ” 
he asked eagerly. 

“ In a furnished room.” 


176 


The Wages of Sin 


“ Alone? ” 

She nodded. 

“ Were you going home? ” 

“ I 

“ But you’re not going home now? You’ll 
dine with me to-night? ” 

“ I will, gladly, because — oh, Harry, I’m so 
tired of it all! ” she burst out passionately. 

“ Tired of what? ” he asked, puzzled. 

“ Of being good and proper and of working 
hard,” she said wearily. 

“ You don’t work! ” he cried, shocked. 

“ But I do; I work hard,” she repeated. 

He took one of her hands and gently rubbed 
its soft pahn. “ Your hand isn’t hard yet,” he 
observed, much relieved. 

“ Oh,” said May, smiling, “ I didn’t mean that 
I did housework. I merely sell goods.” 

“ Where? ” 

“ Why, in a shop, stupid.” 

“ May! You don’t mean to say that you work 
in a shop! ” 

“ Why not? ” she retorted saucily. “ It’s bet- 
ter to sell goods than evil — myself.” 

177 


The Short Cut 


He regarded her tenderly as he said: “ Well, 
little one, you needn’t work any more. I will 
take care of you.” 

A wistful look came into her eyes, but she an- 
swered nothing. 

“Where shall we dine?” he asked presently. 

“ Let us go to Buschenheim’s,” she suggested. 
“ Don’t you remember the thick steaks and the 
creamed potatoes we used to have there?” 

So Buschenheim’s was decided on, and there 
they dined at a little table, on a big steak, with 
creamed potatoes browned to a turn, and a quart 
of wine. And how good that dinner tasted to 
May, who, for several weeks, had been eating in 
the cheap restaurants ! 

“ Where shall we go now? ” asked Harry, 
pushing back his chair, after he and his fair com- 
panion had finished their coffee. 

“ I’d like to walk on Broadway,” said May. 

“ Don’t you want to take in a play? ” 

“No; I’d rather stay out in the fresh air. It 
is such a beautiful evening.” 

He was agreeable. So he paid the check, and 
together they strolled out under the glaring 
178 


The Wages of Sin 

lights of the thoroughfare that is responsible for 
more sin and suffering than any other street in 
all busy New York. 

It was theater time, and motor-cars were dart- 
ing swiftly in all directions, seeking to disgorge 
their laughing freight at the entrance to some 
house of mirth. 

In front of a certain theater, which May and 
Graham were passing, a particularly jolly party 
had just stepped out of an automobile. The man 
in the group was tall, slightly gray, and happy- 
looking. But it was not his appearance that at- 
tracted the attention of May and of other passers- 
by; it was the fact that he was with his wife and 
their three children, two of whom were handsome 
well-grown boys, and the third, a pretty miss of 
perhaps sixteen summers. 

May squeezed her companion’s arm. “ Har- 
ry,” she said softly, “ do you see that man going 
into the theater with his family? ” 

“ Yes,” he replied carelessly. “ What of 
him? ” 

“ Only that he cared enough for her to marry 
her and to have children by her; and now, when 
179 


The Short Cut 

he’s gray, he appears still to love her, even though 
she’s his wife.” 

“ Well? ” 

“ I wish some one cared that much for me.” 

Graham laughed uneasily. “ I see no reason,” 
he said nervously, ignoring her last remark, “ why 
a man should not love his own. It’s perfectly 
natural — there’s nothing remarkable in it.” 

“ Yes, Harry,” replied May quietly, “ his love 
is perfectly natural; but the love you profess to 
have for me is not natural, and I don’t think it’s 
real. You would enjoy me, but would not give 
up your liberty for my sake.” 

“ How do you know I wouldn’t? ” he demand- 
ed, feeling now thoroughly uncomfortable. Then 
he added impatiently: “But, May, we cannot 
discuss such matters here — in the street. Let us 
go to a room where we shall be by ourselves.” 

“ As you wish,” she said indifferently. 

He hailed a passing cab, and they were driven 
rapidly to a quiet hotel, where they were shown 
to a room on the second floor. 

“At last!” ejaculated Graham, after he had 
bolted the door. 


180 


The Wages of Sin 

May had sunk pale and tired into a chair. 

He went over to her and attempted to kiss 
her, but she repulsed him. 

“ I did not come here for that,” she said coldly. 
She had risen and stood facing him. 

“ What did you come here for? ” he sneered. 

“ I don’t know. In the mood I was in I would 
have gone anywhere with anyone. What am I? 
Had I had the strength to remain good, perhaps 
I, too, would have married such a man as I saw 
to-night. But it is too late. I know now that I 
am too foul, too utterly corrupt, ever to be made 
clean. I know now that only a woman who is 
honest and pure and good can be happy. Before 
I saw that happy group to-night I never real- 
ized how vain has been my life, and how empty 
have been my pleasures. The worth I myself 
have put upon myself is the worth at which 
all men appraise me. I thought to-night 
that I loved you, you; now I know that I hate 
you, and myself even more. I know to-night 
also that I have never loved anyone except 
my mother — a bad woman cannot love any 
man.” 


181 


The Short Cut 


“Hush!” said Graham, shocked; “you are 
mad to talk so.” 

“No, I am not mad,” said May more quietly. 
“ I am only tired — so tired. Let us have a drink; 
then I shall sleep.” 

Graham pressed the electric bell and, when 
the waiter appeared, ordered two whiskies. 

Neither spoke imtil the drinks had been 
brought; then May said: “Harry, forget what 
I said; from my heart I do not blame you. You 
have respected me just as I deserve to be re- 
spected.” 

She took her half -filled whiskey glass and 
walked to the window. Then she removed the 
cork from a tiny vial, which she had taken out 
of the pocket of her coat, and poured all its con- 
tents into the whiskey. 

“Hold on!” shouted Graham, who had seen 
the act. “ What are you doing? What was in 
that bottle? ” 

She smiled sadly. “ Only a sleeping potion,” 
she said to him reassuringly. Then, before he 
could prevent her, she suddenly brought the glass 
to her lips and drained it. Almost immediately 
182 


The Wages of Sin 

she became deathly pale, a low moan escaped her, 
and she pressed her two hands to her heart. Her 
body swayed, and she would have fallen had not 
Graham sprung forward and caught her. As 
he carried her to the bed and laid her on it, he felt 
her limbs twitch convulsively and then become 
still. 

An awful terror took hold of him that she 
might be dead. Her lips were now red and 
slightly parted; but there was not the slightest 
movement about the once mobile mouth. 

Frenzied with dread, he tore open her collar 
and waist and exposed a throat and bosom that 
any man would have been eternally damned to 
possess. But he could see there neither not the 
faintest fluttering of life. She was dead. 

Then with a frightful sob of fear and remorse 
he threw himself upon her still form, kissed with 
molten mouth her yet warm lips and neck and 
bosom, and cried aloud in agony. 

A sharp knock sounded on the door, and a 
rough voice called out: “What’s the row in 
there? Open the door or I’ll break it in.” 

Graham did not answer. He was walking 
183 


The Short Cut 


about the room, alternately squeezing together 
and unclasping his hands like one distracted. 

There was a brief whispered conference out- 
side the door; then one of the men threw his 
weight against it, the bolt gave way, and he fell 
into the room, followed by a second man, the 
proprietor of the hotel. He who had forced the 
door was the house detective. 

Both stood aghast at what they saw. A beau- 
tiful young woman, with her waist tore open and 
her bosom exposed, lay apparently dead on the 
bed, while her man companion, seemingly una- 
ware of their presence, was pacing about the 
room, wringing his hands and muttering, “ Poor 
little girl! — Poor child! — My poor May!” 

“ Did you murder her, young feller? ” the de« 
tective asked abruptly. 

Graham turned and looked sharply at his in- 
terrogator. The brutal question had sobered him. 
“ Murder her? No,” he said hoarsely. “ She 
killed herself. Poor, poor little girl! She was 
not what good people would call a good woman. 
But she had a noble heart. She blamed only her- 
self for her downfall, and she hadn’t strength to 
184 


The Wages of Sin 

get up again, or to make anything of her life; 
so she ended it. 

“ Gentlemen, though I saw her destroy herself 
with some powerful poison, I believe it is I and 
other brutes like me who are responsible for her 
death. But here and now, beside her dead body, 
I solemnly swear that never again will I play the 
profligate with any woman. 

“ Do you two men kneel with me and pray 
with me now that the merciful God will show the 
same mercy to this poor girl’s unhappy soul that 
he showed to the Magdalene.” 

It was a strange scene — Graham and the two 
rough men kneeling and praying reverently in 
the dimly lighted room. 

When the case was reported to the police, it 
was given out that May French, twenty-three 
years old, had died suddenly of heart disease in 

the Hotel. The report stated further that 

a man had accompanied her to the hotel, the 
couple registering as A. Brown and wife. 


185 


CHAPTER XVII 


BENEATH THE SURFACE 

To all who knew and had known Fred Barry, 
it was patent that he had wofully changed. Din- 
ner parties piqued with saucy, easy-mannered 
women were not considered complete without 
Fred; but when he had been confidently invited 
to one of these by Nick, he had dumfounded 
that gentleman by a curt refusal. Then, with 
the money which, in former times, he would have 
spent on wine and dainty comestibles, he had re- 
lieved the immediate wants of a destitute family 
on Orchard Street. 

One Friday evening, his night off, Barry was 
sitting with his chum in a cafe, discussing various 
topics with a tongue loosed by free imbibitions 
of Rhine wine and seltzer, when a Salvation 
Army lass approached their table. To her shrill 
appeals to buy a War Cry Holbrook paid no 
attention. 


186 


Beneath the Surface 

The girl turned her black intelligent eyes on 
Barry, who was in the act of draining his glass. 
“ Strange,” she ejaculated, “ that those who will 
waste dollars on vice should begrudge even a 
nickel to virtue, which alone is worth any- 
thing.” 

Fred met her bright gaze calmly. “ You talk 
sense, lassie,” he said. “ Wait a moment. How 
much have we spent here, Frank? ” 

“ About two dollars.” 

“ My share, then, is a dollar.” He tendered 
the girl double that amount, saying: “ Give this 
to virtue. As it’s worthier than vice, it should 
have more.” 

The delighted Salvationist God-blessed him 
and ran out shouting “ Hallelujahs.” 

Next an old tramp sidled up to them. “ Gen- 
tlemen,” he whined, “ gimme a few pennies fer a 
night’s lodgin’ for the love o’ God.” 

Holbrook tossed the man a half dollar, while 
Barry extracted two quarters. “ This,” said the 
latter, as he gave one of the pieces to the mendi- 
cant, “ is half of my total wealth.” 

“ Thank ’ee,” replied the beggar, adding 
187 


The Short Cut 


whimsically: “ If de millionaires’d only divvy like 
you, us fellers’d move ter Easy Street.” 

“ Though it’s not humorous, misery has hu- 
mor,” said Frank sententiously. “ Of what are 
you thinking, Freddy? ” 

“ Of how enormously the burdens of humanity 
would be lightened did the rich contribute half, 
or even a quarter, of their superfluities to the suf- 
fering poor.” 

“ If money came so easily, no one would work 
for it.” 

“True; but those able to work are not the 
suffering poor. I do not believe in indiscriminate 
charity; but there are unfortunate incapables 
everywhere, and each one of us should single these 
out and help them.” 

“Fred, you’re a good fellow; and often you 
shame me with myself. Why should not I assist 
others? ” 

“ You should, old man. Every day I see more 
misery than I can possibly relieve.” 

“ Is there something I can do now? ” 

Fred took out a notebook and ran rapidly 
through a list of addresses. “ Here are two 
188 


Beneath the Surface 

names you might take,” he said presently. “ The 
first is Peter Dugro, of No. — Suffolk Street, a 
painter, who was killed a week ago by falling 
from a scaffolding. His family is in absolute 
want. 

“ The second is Matthew Matheson, of No. — 
East One Hundred and Twenty-second Street. 
He’s a decent young fellow who lost a good posi- 
tion through being suspected of a theft. He was 
tried and discharged, owing to insufficient evi- 
dence. For obvious reasons he has since been un- 
able to get employment. I have talked with him, 
and am fully convinced of his honesty. See 
whether you can place him somewhere.” 

“ I’ll do my best,” Holbrook responded read- 
ily. “ And when you hear of anything else, let 
me know. Why didn’t you come to Nick’s din- 
ner? ” 

“ I visited some starving people on Orchard 
Street,” replied Fred, flushing. “ The dinner 
had no attractions for me, and I didn’t wish to 
see any women. I haven’t spoken to one 
since ” 

“ You saw ‘ Sis ’ Leeds,” finished Frank. 

189 


The Short Cut 


“ That fellow ought to be whisked to Heaven in 
a chariot of fire — but, Lord, how mad that would 
make Elijah! When are you going to see 
Marion? ’’ 

“ Perhaps never.’’ 

“ Don’t talk foolishly. Will you obey that 
puppy?” 

“ Marion wouldn’t receive me.” 

‘‘The devil she wouldn’t! To misquote By- 
ron : ‘ When a woman loves, she loves, you may 
depend on’t; and when she don’t, she don’t, and 
there’s an end on’t.’ ” 

“ What’s the use of worrying about events 
over which we have no control? If Marion and I 
are destined for each other, nothing can keep us 
apart.” 

“You’re a fatahst?” 

“No; a necessitarian.” 

“ Why? ” 

“ The subject is deep enough to deserve more 
than a shallow sounding, and I am too tired to 
discuss it to-night. All I will say is that the con- 
ception of prophecy without admitting the doc- 
trine of necessity is impossible; and that by ascrib- 
190 


Beneath the Surface 

ing foreknowledge to an infinite God we signify 
our own powerlessness to prevent what must be. 
Christ knew at His first breath the day and hour 
He would die on the cross. He predicted His 
betrayal before His false disciple had conceived 
of it — and what man could avert His doom? ” 

“ Do you believe in God? ’’ 

“ Certainly.” 

“ In prayer? ” 

“No; for when God created the world He 
loosed vast forces to work surely and relentlessly 
toward some magnificent goal. To modify those 
forces would be to correct His laws and admit 
of error. The sublimity of nature lies in its su- 
perb indifference. Prayers or petitions move it 
not a jot. In fine, prayer is nothing less than a 
beseechment to God to subvert the universe; and 
to ask Him to change immutable and perfect 
laws is on the face of it absurd. Further, it is 
ridiculous to tell One who knows best what we 
would have Him do. Common experiences show 
this when persons pray to escape seeming calami- 
ties which afterwards prove blessings. Absolute 
faith in God precludes prayer.” 

191 


The Short Cut 


“ I cannot believe in your ‘ necessity,’ Hol- 
brook objected. “ The Bible instructs us to ask 
divine aid, and God knows we need it in this ill- 
balanced world.” 

“ It is only from our standpoint that the world 
is imperfect,” answered Barry. “ From God’s 
it is perfection itself, in that it is exactly suited 
to His ends. While our understanding is far 
too limited to comprehend the scheme of the uni- 
verse, it is permitted us to see that pain, sickness, 
privations, and even wickedness, are necessities to 
develop character. 

“ The late Robert Ingersoll declared that, 
given the power, he would have made a better 
world. Under his regime, health would have 
been catching, poverty unheard of, crime un- 
known, and so on. In short, Ingersoll consid- 
ered a merry-go-round preferable to a school. 

“ Yet is it conceivable, despite Ingersoll, that 
God has created wisely? As the toil of hard 
work develops our physical and mental qualities, 
so the overcoming of sin develops us morally. 

“ How can he have sympathy who has never 
suffered? We are born ignorant, and we remain 
192 


Beneath the Surface 

so just as long as we are suckled by prosperity. 
Show me an always-prosperous man, and I see a 
fool. To him human nature is a book of which 
he knows only the garish cover. Set smiles and 
specious words assail him on all sides; but the 
poor fool cannot be loved for himself, so much is 
he outrivaled by his prosperity. He is in the 
same case as a homely woman who receives atten- 
tions solely through the attractions of a pretty 
one with whom she travels. 

“ But let such a one lose his good fortune and 
be suddenly confronted by adversity; then he be- 
gins to learn and to know. He moves in a new 
world in which artificiahties are hid and truths 
bared; for it is no longer worth any one’s while 
to conciliate him. He suffers, but every pang 
palpitates wisdom. 

“ As a matter of fact, if character and under- 
standing count for anything, misery is the great- 
est blessing on earth.” 

Holbrook looked puzzled. “ You seem to 
forget,” he said, “that misery means poverty, 
and prosperity money. The poor cannot travel; 
they have little leisure to read and less to study, 
193 


The Short Cut 


and as for the aesthetics — art, poetry, and the 
like — ^these are almost unknown to a class whose 
hands must toil ceaselessly for drippings from 
the brain-earnings of their more prosperous 
neighbors. Moreover, rude labor tends to be- 
numb the finer faculties. Therefore, by what 
process of reasoning do you argue such enforced 
ignorance knowledge? ” 

“ There is a higher and truer knowledge,” re- 
plied Barry, “ than that gleaned from books or 
from travels, and the man learns most who suf- 
fers most, though he may never have left his na- 
tive village. We know neither what we read nor 
what we see; we know only what we feel. There 
is no truth not fathered by actual experience. 
To visit the slums and to look upon the faces of 
the hungry will no more enable us to tell truly of 
their condition than would the study of psy- 
chology teach us how to love. Genius is most 
often the child of poverty, and the foremost men 
to-day are those who have been hurtled by mis- 
ery. And why is this so, if it is not that their 
sufferings have developed latent attributes of 
character, which enable them to distinguish 
194 


Beneath the Surface 

causes and effects more clearly than do other 
men? While poverty goads, prosperity narco- 
tizes. The rich artist, with the elegant studio, 
who studies at the most famous schools and after- 
wards travels through Europe to educate his 
taste, is not he who becomes a master; rather, it is 
some poor devil who drudges all day for bread, 
and paints when he can. He lacks advantages, 
but the very overcoming of obstacles so develops 
his restless, resistless genius that he finally attains 
a goal far ahead of his more fortunate com- 
petitor. 

“ As for writers, there are thousands infinitely 
better read than was Shakespeare, whose best 
lines do not equal the latter’s worst. 

“ Nature delights in surprises, seldom allow- 
ing individuals to justify expectations. A bril- 
liant college man dies in obscurity; a dullard 
leaves an immortal name. Then there are those 
whose very greatness precludes success — for a 
time. They lack pettiness, the attention to triv- 
ialties, the tactful flatteries so necessary to suc- 
ceed. Their proud individuality will bow to no 
man; therefore, all men keep them down. Such 
195 


The Short Cut 


persons are sneered at, abused and generally 
designated as failures, until one day their great- 
ness bursts forth, when they are as extravagantly 
admired as they were unjustly contemned.” 

“ Hold on, Fred,” Holbrook interrupted. 
“ It’s time you ran down. Our conversation — or 
rather, yours — ^is getting too serious. Let’s have 
a drink.” 

“ And a cigar,” said Fred, passing one to his 
friend, while he lighted a second. 

Frank puffed vigorously for several minutes; 
then an expression of pain crossed his features. 
“ Where did you get this? ” he demanded. 

‘‘ I’m smoking the other,” Barry replied 
coolly. ‘‘ They’re two for a quarter.” 

And you have the twenty-cent one,” said 
Frank. “ Waiter, fetch a beefsteak and a bottle 
of wine to drown it. I’m as hungry as a cow in 
clover.” 


196 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS 

The following afternoon Fred was assigned 
to an East Side tenement to get the story of a sui- 
cide. Having obtained the details, he was about 
to return to the office when it occurred to him 
that he was near the block where lived the unfor- 
tunate persons whose address he had sent to 
Marion. 

“ I’ll stop in and see how they are,” he 
thought. 

A short walk brought him to a tall double- 
decker, the steps of which were literally covered 
with a swarm of ragged children. Several strug- 
gled to their feet upon seeing him approach; and 
one tot with a grimy, sweet face, trustfully seized 
his hand. “ ’Ou’s ter’ble big,” she lisped; “but 
I ain’t afraid. I wish ’ou was my papa, ’cause 
my papa gets drunk an’ beats mama. My 
mama’s awful sick, too.” 

197 


The Short Cut 


‘‘ Where does your mama live? ’’ Fred 
asked. 

“ In there,” pointing up the steps. 

‘‘ Will you take me to her? ” 

“ ’Es; I’ll take ’ou,” and she darted ahead as 
fast as her short legs would allow. After labori- 
ously mounting two stair-flights, she pattered 
down a dark passageway and knocked gently at 
a door. 

‘‘Who’s there?” called a tired voice from 
within. 

“ It’s on’y me, mama, an’ a gen’leman.” 

“ A gentleman? ” 

“ ’Es. He wants to see ’ou.” 

There was a shuffling inside, a fumbling at the 
lock, and the door opened. 

Barry discerned a pale - faced, emaciated 
young woman, with a thin shawl over her shoul- 
ders. “ I spoke to your little girl on the stoop,” 
he said, stepping forward. “ She told me you 
were ill, and I came in to see if I could do some- 
thing for you.” 

“ You’re very kind, sir,” replied the woman, 
eying him rather suspiciously. Then she was 
198 


A Rift in the Clouds 

seized with a fit of coughing and sank weakly 
into a chair. 

“ Will you see a doctor? ” asked Barry. 

“ I ain’t got no money to pay him or to buy 
medicine,” she said sullenly. 

Barry pressed a five-dollar bill into her hand. 
‘‘You won’t have to pay him — ^he won’t charge 
you; and now you have money for medicine. 
When I go out, I’ll send you in some groceries 
and things.” 

The poor creature looked at him in mute as- 
tonishment, while the child clapped her hands in 
ecstasy. “ Ain’t he a lovely gen’leman, mama? ” 
she cried. “ He’s go’n’ to send us goodies.” 

“ God will reward you,” murmured the sick 
woman. “ My man spends ev’rythin’ on drink. 
If it warn’t for her,” pointing to the child, “ I’d 
kill myself.” 

“Why don’t you' leave him?” Barry sug- 
gested. “ Then put your little girl into a home, 
and stay in a hospital until you get well.” 

“ No — no,” she replied, trembling. “ I 
couldn’t do that. He’s good to me — when he 
ain’t drunk.” 


199 


The Short Cut 


“ Well, good-bye.” He stooped and kissed the 
child. “ I’ll see you again soon, and meanwhile 
I wish you all good luck.” 

The woman advanced timidly and took his 
hand. ‘‘ God grant your dearest wish for what 
you’ve done this day,” she said earnestly. 

“ ’Es, ’ou de’ist wish,” parroted the child. 

The stairs echoed it as he descended — “ Your 
dearest wish — your dearest wish.” 

In the first hall Barry felt that some one was 
near him and raised his eyes. Before him stood 
Marion. She was dressed in black, which might 
have partly accounted for her pallor. 

The blood rushed to his heart, making it beat 
tumultuously; but he extended his hand. 

She touched his fingers and murmured that she 
was pleased to see him. 

To hide his perturbation in the commonplace, 
he began: “ Superb weather, is it not? ” Then 
he continued nervously, “ I dropped in to see 
how your laborer was getting on.” 

“ That was good of you,” she answered in a 
low voice. “ Did you see him? ” 

“No. I had almost forgotten his existence.” 

200 


A Rift in the Clouds 

“ How could you? ’’ she asked, surprised. 

“ I was held up by a little tot on the steps,” he 
said, smiling, “ who told me her mama was sick, 
and that her papa beat her mama. From which 
I surmised that her mama needed money; so I 
went in to see if I could help her.” 

Marion interrupted him eagerly; “ Oh, where 
is she? Let me help, too.” 

“ It isn’t necessary,” said Fred quickly. “ I 
gave her some money, and promised to send a 
doctor. But she needs meat and groceries.” 

“ Let me get those, please,” Marion insisted. 
“ We’ll each help half. Come.” 

In a twinkling her reserve had vanished, and 
her eyes were now sparkling with delight. 

He felt for her hand and they crowded along 
the narrow hallway abreast. 

When they had gained the street, Marion’s 
sharp eyes spied a grocery on an opposite corner. 
This she entered, Fred meekly following, and 
with a pretty air of authority ordered the largest 
basket she could find to be filled with canned and 
fresh vegetables of every description. She did 
likewise at a butcher’s, a bakery, and a fruiterer’s. 

201 


The Short Cut 


Then she turned a radiant face on her com- 
panion. ‘‘What is the woman’s name?” she 
asked. “ I shall see her to-morrow.” 

Barry was obliged to confess ignorance, but he 
contented her by a minute description of the loca- 
tion of their new protegee's room. 

They were now sauntering aimlessly. 

“ You do not know how happy you have made 
me,” Marion said impulsively. “ That sick la- 
borer whom you were going to see is almost well. 
He’s going to begin work next week.” Then 
she added shyly, “ Why have you stayed away 
so long? ” 

Barry’s face clouded as he exclaimed with sud- 
den passion; “Why do you play with me? I 
shall be frank with you and say what is in my 
mind. When I bade good-bye to you that day 
in the drawing-room I was fool enough to be- 
lieve that what occurred meant as much to you 
as it did to me; but I afterwards foimd that a 
mere cousin could share the same privilege.” 

The shot struck. She flushed crimson; but 
presently, recovering herself, flashed her proud 
eyes full upon him and said haughtily: “Mr. 

202 


A Rift in the Clouds 

Barry, you are mad to speak so to me. The 
cousin that you speak of so contemptuously is a 
man whom I have known all my life. The night 
of my dance he had just returned from the Phil- 
ippines, and he did — ^what I presume you saw ” — 
she again blushed rosy red — “ before I could pre- 
vent it. I would almost have died rather than 
have suffered it; and yet he looked so worn and 
pale that I forgave him.” 

“ You didn’t forgive him because you cared 
for him? ” Fred whispered. 

‘‘ Oh, no,” she said vehemently. 

“Were you ever engaged to him? ” 

“ Why, no, you silly boy.” 

“ I heard that you were,” he persisted. 

“ Do you see the brougham? ” Marion asked 
provokingly. “ I told James to wait for me 
here. Ah, there it is. Good night, Mr. 
Barry.” 

“ When may I see you? ” he asked, after help- 
ing her into the carriage. 

“ I don’t know. Please tell James to drive 
home.” 

“ Friday evening? ” 


203 


The Short Cut 


“No. I expect a Mr. De Peyster.” 

“ You are hard,” he said bitterly. 

She relented. “ Not so hard as you have been 
with me; but — you may come Friday. I’ll write 
Mr. De Peyster that I have an engagement.” 

“ You’re an angel.” 

“ Not to Mr. De Peyster. — Home, James.” 

Barry took out his watch. Five o’clock, and 
he had yet to interview a drygoods man on Sixth 
Avenue. 

How beautiful was the day! How agreeable 
the noise and bustle of traffic ! But what pathos 
in the careworn faces about him! A shrewish 
woman was shrilling her offspring from the 
street. A brute bellowed orders to his frightened 
spouse. A baby caterwauled dismally, till others 
took up the cry and the air was filled with 
wailings. 

The pity of it! Why were not all as happy as 
he? Was he dreaming, or had he in truth seen 
Marion? 

A woman winked at him expressively as she 
walked by. Good God, what a beast and fool 
he had been to have so degraded his idol by level- 
204 


A Rift in the Clouds 

ing her in his thoughts to other women ! As well 
compare a cesspool with a crystal spring. She 
had said nothing, nor had even her manner hinted 
anything of what John had told concerning him. 
Doubtless her very nobility made her incredulous 
of his baseness. 

It was after six when Barry, having obtained 
his desired interview, started to walk through 
Fourteenth Street. Tired shopgirls were stream- 
ing from the big stores, laughing, hurtling one 
another and cracking jokes, as they sought out 
boon companions ; happy in the cool air after the 
suffocation of the shops. 

Lying prone on the sidewalk, Iiat in hand, a 
cripple whined at regular intervals: “ Spare a 
cripple a nickel. Don’t all pass me by.” 

And Barry noticed that most of the poor 
working-girls paused to toss the mendicant a 
nickel, often a dime; nor could he help feeling 
indignant at the fellow’s success in wresting 
charity from such miserable sources. 

After the street had cleared somewhat, Barry 
approached the extorter and asked with assumed 
205 


The Short Cut 

indifference, “ How much do you make in a 
day? ” 

The beggar eyed him with suspicion. “ I 
dunno,” he replied sullenly. “ Wha’ d’yer want 
ter know fer? ” 

“ I’ll give you a dollar for the truth.” 

The cripple’s crafty eyes sparkled. “ Is that 
right, boss? Well, I’ll tell yer straight an’ con- 
fidential. I gen’ally makes up’ards er four 
plunks. An’ cur’ous as it may seem,” he 
added, chuckhng, “ the poorest gals is the richest 
graft.” 

“ What have you made to-day? ” 

“ ’Bout five, boss ; and yourn’ll make six.” 

“ Here’s your dollar,” said Fred sternly. “ If 
you weren’t a cripple I’d give you more — the 
worst thrashing you ever had. You’re not a 
man, but a currish pimp living off the earnings 
of poor girls. Now get; and I warn you that 
the next time you appear on this block you’ll be 
arrested. 

“ That’s the dearest dollar you ever earned,” 
he shouted as the wretch scurried off without even 
the semblance of an infirmity. 

206 


A Rift in the Clouds 

“ How are you, Casey? ” said Fred a few mo- 
ments later, addressing a bluecoat. 

“First-rate, Mr. Barry. How’s yourself?” 
responded the patrolman. “ Can I do anything 
for you? ” 

“Yes. About six o’clock in the evening a 
well-to-do fake cripple prostrates himself on the 
sidewalk near the big department stores, prefer- 
ably those on Fourteenth Street. Look out for 
the whelp; and if you catch him taking money 
from shopgirls, arrest him. I’ll appear against 
the fellow any time.” 

“ All right, sir. I’ll attend to him.” 

“ Thanks. Good night, Casey.” 

“ Good night, Mr. Barry.” 


207 


CHAPTER XIX 


FRANK HAS AN EXPERIENCE 

“ What’s happened, Fred? ” asked Dr. Barry 
at breakfast the next morning. “You look 
happy enough to have found a gold mine.” 

“ I have, father.” 

“ Give me some shares, and I’ll help you 
work it.” 

“ Not much.” 

“ You’re hard hit — or rather, soft hit is the 
better term. Who is she? ” 

“ I prefer not to say.” 

“ Oh, ho, you rascal ! I hope she’s your 
equal? ” 

“ Thank God, no.” 

“ What!” 

“ She’s immeasurably my superior.” 

Dr. Barry looked relieved. 

“ What is she like? ” he asked presently. 

208 


Frank Has an Experience 

“ Like nobody you nor I nor anyone ever 
saw.” 

The doctor opened his newspaper as he said 
philosophically : “I give it up. To expect a 
sensible answer from one in your condition is 
about as foolish as ’twould be to ask a blind man 
his opinion of a painting, or a deaf-mute whether 
he admired Chopin. How is your friend 
Frank? ” 

“ He’s serene as usual. I expect him this 
morning. When he comes, kindly send him up- 
stairs; I have some writing to do.” And Fred 
left the room. 

“By Gis, and by Saint Charity, 

Alack, and fye for shame ! 

Young men will do ’t, if they come to *t; 

By Cock they are to blame. 

Quoth she, before you tumbled me. 

You promised me to wed: 

So would I ha’ done, by yonder sun. 

An* thou hadst not come to my bed,” 

sang Frank as he entered the “ den ” an hour 
later. 

“ By Jove, Fred, that song of mad Ophelia 
contains as much philosophy as refined oaths. 

209 


The Short Cut 


The men’d be all right if the women ’d only let 
’em alone. But no — they will wear low high- 
heeled shoes, diaphanous stockings carefully ex- 
posed carelessly, ravishing hats and hide-and-go- 
seek shirt-waists that disclose maddening bits of 
ribbon. Then the inconsistent creatures rail at 
us poor brutes for pursuing them.” 

“ Of what is all this apropos? ” Fred asked, 
surprised at this ripple in his friend’s usual pla- 
cidity. 

“ While taking a stroll yesterday I met just 
such an enchanting creature as I have de- 
scribed.” 

“ Pardon me. You haven’t described her — 
only her clothes and stockings.” 

“Bah! Her coverings were sackcloth and 
ashes compared with herself.” 

“ Well— go on.” 

“ She has the most beautiful eyes I ever saw.” 

“ Cut that out.” 

“ Will you shut up? ” 

“ When you shut down on her charms. I can 
imagine them.” 

“We exchanged glances,” Frank continued; 

210 


Frank Has an Experience 

“ and I don’t know whether it was telepathy or 
what — but afterwards it seemed the most natu- 
ral thing in the world for me to speak to her.” 

“ In common language, she flirted.” 

“ She did not,” said Holbrook indignantly. 
“ She merely stopped at a window to look at some 
photographs in colors.” 

“ An old dodge. You stopped, too, of 
course? ” 

“ As if desirous only of information, I ad- 
dressed her musingly : ‘ Do you suppose those 
views are hand-colored, or have they been actually 
photographed in that way? ’ 

“ She looked at me steadily; then evidently 
concluded that it would be churlish not to re- 
spond to a civil question, which had apparently 
no ulterior motive ” 

“ She must have been a poor judge.” 

“ ‘ Honi soit qui mal y pense,’ ” retorted Hol- 
brook with dignity. 

“ ‘ I doubt their being color photographs,’ she 
answered — her voice was low and cultivated — 
‘ but they are very beautiful.’ 

“ She then moved away, half hesitating, as 
211 


The Short Cut 


though a little afraid, and yet not wishing to 
appear rude. I followed and tried, as unob- 
trusively as possible, to draw her into conversa- 
tion. 

“ At first she seemed nervous, but finally she 
glanced at me timidly, and said in tones so musi- 
cal that they thrilled me from head to foot : ‘ I 
do not know who you are, but you seem a gen- 
tleman. While it may be wrong for me to speak 
to you, without having met you in a proper way, 
I cannot help it — I feel so lonely. My parents 
live in the South, and I have come by myself to 
New York to study painting! ’ 

“ My heart went out to her, Fred. I believed 
her because I could see truth in her eyes, and I 
then and there resolved to be her friend and to 
shield her innocence from everything and every- 
body. 

“ ‘ Have you no acquaintances here? ’ I asked. 

“‘Not one,’ she rephed. ‘ I am stopping at 
the Hotel.’ 

“ ‘ I suppose you are lonely sometimes? ’ I ven- 
tured. 

“ She confessed she was. 

212 


Frank Has an Experience 

“ ‘ I am also/ said I ; ‘ so why may not our 
mutual loneliness be company? ’ 

“ She shook her head, saying: ‘ It would not 
be right for me to permit you to call; besides, you 
undoubtedly have many friends, so it cannot be 
you are ever lonely/ 

“ ‘ It is not that I have been,’ I acknowledged, 
‘ but now I shall be lonely for you.’ 

“ At this she smiled, not displeased, and it gave 
me courage. 

Will you dine with me to-night? ’ I asked 
boldly. 

“ She shrank from me, and her eyes grew 
frightened. ‘No — ^no,’ she exclaimed; ‘not on 
any accoimt.’ 

“‘Why?’ I continued. ‘Because our meet- 
ing was unconventional? Conventionalities are 
but artificialities after all, different in different 
countries, and in each supposed best. Moreover, 
why cannot things introduce as well as persons? 
And aren’t paintings better than people ? ’ 

“ She objected that she knew nothing about 
me. 

“ I gave her my card. ‘ Frank Holbrook, en- 
213 


The Short Cut 


tirely at your service,’ said I. ‘ My father is a 
broker, and I — a gentleman of leisure; a good- 
for-nothing, unless you will see me again.’ 

“ She laughed musically. ‘ You may call 
some evening — if you wish,’ she said, at last 
yielding. 

“ ‘ To-night at seven? Or have you an engage- 
ment? ’ 

“ ‘ N — no,’ she replied, ‘ but you must not come 
to-night.’ 

“ ‘ Some evening,’ I retorted, ‘ is any evening; 
and any evening is this evening. So I shall call 
for you this evening at seven.’ 

“ Her despair was almost comic as she asked 
weakly where we should go. 

“ To be brief, we decided on Hartin’s, parted, 
met later, and went to the restaurant. 

“ A quart of champagne improved a good 
dinner, and its influence so charmed my compan- 
ion’s shyness that soon I knew not if her wit, her 
culture, or her beauty witched me most. Of her 
breeding, I was sure; and that she was innocent, 
I could have sworn. 

“ Afterwards, a vaudeville whiled some hours. 

214 


Frank Has an Experience 

Then I proposed supper. She demurred, but I 
insisted, and finally had my way. 

“ This time I took her to a small private din- 
ing room uptown, which was most imprudent; 
for, after the waiter had brought wine and re- 
tired, shutting the door behind him, I cannot de- 
scribe my feelings. 

“ You have often averred, Freddy, that one 
must inevitably act one’s conquering impulse, be 
it good or bad. The wine, her beauty, our iso- 
lation were too much for me, and I became so 
dnmk with love that I could no more have re- 
sisted my desire than I could have stemmed 
Niagara. I seized Pauline, and kissed her re- 
peatedly. 

“ She thrust me away with violence, and rose 
to her feet, her face hot with indignation. ‘ How 
dare you bring me here to — ^insult me? ’ she 
gasped. 

“ I did not lower my eyes, but looked at her 
proudly, exultingly, strong that my love would 
conquer. ‘ I dare anything,’ I said recklessly, 
‘ because I love you ; and if that be an insult, then 
shall I affront you with every breath I draw.’ 

215 


The Short Cut 


“‘Faugh I’ she exclaimed contemptuously. 
‘ Love! You know not what love is. True love 
is as pure as it is sweet and holy; it is unselfish, 
sacrificing, patient, and above all, it respects its 
object as it does itself.’ 

“ ‘ Were love as you describe it,’ I answered, 
cooling, ‘ the world would age and wither, leav- 
ing no progeny; but such cold defining better 
fits the calm of brothers and sisters than the all- 
conquering emotion which a man feels for a 
woman. To you, love is but a dim perspective; 
while to me it is a present terrible reality that will 
brook no restraint. 

“ ‘ Whatever I may be, I am at least sincere, 
and have courage to speak my thoughts. I love 
you — your mind, your soul, your intellect; every 
hair of your head and atom of your sweet body ; 
everything palpable and impalpable that is of 
you, and I desire you — I dare confess it without 
shame, denying that I lack respect, to affirm that 
love too much respects itself not to covet posses- 
sion and consummation, the very breath of its 
life. 

You believe me, do you not? Cannot you 
216 


(( < 


Frank Has an Experience 

feel as well as hear that I love you, that I would 
die for you, Pauline? ’ 

“ ‘ For your passion, not for me,’ she replied, 
trembling. ‘ I thought you a gentleman and — 
trusted you.’ 

“ ‘ If to be a gentleman is to want feeling,’ I 
answered, ‘ then had I rather be a man. A man 
speaks what he thinks; a gentleman, what he 
wishes others to think.’ 

“ ‘ A man controls himself,’ she said pointedly. 

“ ‘ You mean,’ said I, ‘ he controls his love, 
unless it be so vast as to control him. My chief 
fault is that I love you too much.’ 

“ She looked at me with sudden tenderness. 
‘ Words, words — all words,’ she said wistfully. 
‘ What would I not give to know! But were 
your intentions honorable, you would have had 
more respect. Besides, it can’t be true; it is too 
extraordinary and — wonderful. Tell me — why 
do you love me? ’ 

“ ‘ Why does the bird sing, the poet dream? ’ 
I said softly. ‘ I cannot help loving you, Pau- 
line. Perhaps you think a love so weirdly begot 
strange; but listen to how ’twas born: Beauty 
217 


The Short Cut 


wantoning with intellect bred admiration; and 
from that, by your pure sweet soul, was conceived 
what I now feel for you. Words are such poor 
pursers of my so rich thoughts that angels alone 
might sing their symphony. I have not long 
known you, nor know I much of you, yet would 
I die rather than lose that little. I care not 
whence you came, whither you go, nor to whom 
you belong — I know only that I love you. You 
say “ words, words ” ; but I will do deeds to 
prove those words. What do you wish? — Mar- 
riage? I will marry you now — to-night — this 
instant.’ 

“ Pauline was crying. I kissed away her 
tears. 

“ She clung to me. ‘ Go on,’ she whispered ; 
‘ talk. I could listen to you forever.’ 

“ ‘ Will you marry me? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes — Frank — anything you wish.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Then let us go,’ said I. 

“‘Where?’ 

“ ‘ To a minister’s.’ 

“ ‘ Not to-night,’ she said, smiling. 

“ ‘ Why not to-night? ’ I insisted. 

218 


Frank Has an Experience 

“ ‘ You do not realize what you are doing,’ she 
said soberly. ‘ I am almost a stranger to you. 
My parents are poor, and I have nothing.’ 

“ ‘ You have all I wish — yourself,’ I replied. 
‘ But I think it is you who would know something 
of me.’ 

“ ‘ No, Frank.’ She spoke with a sweet seri- 
ousness. ‘ I would follow you now to the — ^the 
Antipodes; only I’m not sure that you really love 
me. Your fancy may pass, and then ’ 

“‘Never!’ I exclaimed passionately. ‘But, 
oh, to be free — free to love, bound but by our 
hearts! Marriage proses love’s poetry. To safe- 
guard society it humiliates the individual. True, 
it may be necessary ; but so is prison and hanging. 
Were the world not wicked, marriage need not 
be. The birds love and mate and faithfully par- 
ent their offspring without law. It’s an insult 
to love to demand its oath to be true; for it can- 
not be otherwise. It is everlasting. Its death 
confesses it has never been. To humble the true 
and to sacrifice the deceived, man created matri- 
mony. What state more wretched than that of 
an unloving couple? Dangerous because unnatu- 
219 


The Short Cut 


ral and eminently criminal. The passion-plate 
of their false love has worn bare, exposing the 
counterfeit; but they are still bound, having 
promised the Church to love one another always. 

“ ‘ The farce of it! — I talk thus wildly, Pau- 
line, that you may know my thoughts, good and 
bad. You are good, and, of course, believe in 
marriage, therefore I will marry you ; but I warn 
you that I shall be more lover than husband.’ 

“ ‘ And I as truly your sweetheart as your 
wife,’ Pauline answered. ‘ But, dear Frank, you 
do wrong to speak so contemptuously of mar- 
riage, although I understand your thoughts and 
sympathize with them. Christianity commends 
marriage as the holiest state into which human- 
ity may enter; moreover, it is a social necessity 
that every man should yield to, if not for his own 
sake, at least for the woman’s. That it is often 
not sacred is due to our own wickedness. Remem- 
ber, we are in the world, and, consequently, must 
be of it. But come; it grows late; let us go.’ 

“ ‘ I shall take you to your hotel, and engage 
a room for myself there,’ I said, rising. ‘ I must 
be near you.’ 


220 


Frank Has an Experience 

“ ‘ Please don’t,’ she faltered. 

“ ‘ Kiss me,’ I said unsteadily. 

“ She obediently put both arms around my 
neck, and her caress shamed my passion. 

“ Soon afterwards we went to the hotel, where 
I obtained a room next Pauline’s. 

“ I was just getting into bed, when there was 
a timid knock at my door. It was Pauhne. She 
asked for a match. 

“ ‘ Then up I rose, and donn’d my clothes. 

And dupp’d the chamber door; 

Let in the maid, that out a maid 
Never departed more.’ 

“ Shakespeare again. You see I remember his 
noblest passages.” 

“My God, Frank!” cried Barry. “You 
didn’t ” 

“ I married her in the sight of God,” declared 
Holbrook solemnly. 

“ What will you do now? ” 

“ Marry her in the sight of man.” Then Hol- 
brook’s manner changed and he said huskily: 
“ Fred, I’m a brute beast. I wouldn’t have had 
it happen for the world. Poor little sweetheart 
221 


The Short Cut 


— she cried terribly. But what could I do? The 
very innocence of her heart trapped her. She 
threatened to kill herself, saying she had lost 
not only my respect, but her own, and that 
everyone would despise her. I was terribly 
shocked. 

“ ‘ Stop,’ I commanded. ‘ You don’t know 
what you are saying. You are my wife.’ 

“ ‘ Your wife! ’ she repeated. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ I answered, ‘ my wife before God, 
whom I could not more respect and honor were 
she an angel — as I believe you are. Besides, dear 
sweetheart, lives there holy minister who can now 
join us more closely or indissolubly? If you wish, 
I will marry you en regie to-morrow — a sop of 
vital necessity to the public; yet I think it wise 
to wait until I have seen my father and properly 
prepared other members of the family by intro- 
ducing you. You see. they will naturally be sur- 
prised at an old bachelor resolving to become a 
Benedict.’ 

Pauline became radiant. ‘ I shall do exactly 
as you think best,’ she said ; ‘ and whatever comes, 
I belong to you, and shall be yours always.’ 

222 


Frank Has an Experience 

Then her face clouded as she said shyly, ‘ Per- 
haps your people won’t like me.’ 

“ ‘ Not like you! ’ I iterated. ‘ They will love 
you desperately. And suppose they don’t ; it will 
be only their loss. I am independent, and can 
do as I please.’ 

‘‘ ‘ I presume you would like to know some- 
thing about me,’ Pauline continued demurely. 
‘ My father is a physician in Atlanta. Although 
poor, he saved enough money to send me here to 
study art. My mother is the daughter of a 
planter whose estate was confiscated. I have also 
three sisters and one dear little baby brother. So 
you see, dear, you will have nothing — only just 
me.’ 

“ ‘ Your father, with your mother and sisters 
and baby brother, shall come to New York,’ I 
said decidedly. ‘ He can locate somewhere here, 
and I’m sure he’ll be able to build up a good prac- 
tice. I’ll send him all my sick friends; and, be- 
sides, I’ve a chum with a doctor father who will 
help him.’ 

“ Now, Fred, what physiological or psycho- 
logical law makes a woman cry when she’s hap- 
223 


The Short Cut 


py? Pauline’s eyes brimmed over as she told me 
I was the kindest, best man in the world — ^when, 
as a matter of fact, I was beside myself with the 
joy of having won such a treasure as a good 
woman’s heart.” 

“ What is her name? ” asked Fred, a little un- 
evenly. 

“ Miss Sterling — Pauline Sterling. Pretty — 
is it not? She’s only nineteen.” 

“ She’s all right, Frank. I congratulate you.” 

Holbrook’s eyes shone. “ Dear old fellow, I 
thought you’d say that. I have told you every- 
thing, as nearly as I could recollect, knowing that 
had you heard but a part, you would have con- 
demned us both.” 


224 


CHAPTER XX 


GEORGE DROPS IN 

“ I THOUGHT you could never love again? ” 
pursued Barry. 

Frank colored. 

“ Oh, you needn’t apologize. To love once 
shows a capability that may be resurrected imder 
proper stimulus. Have you seen Florence since 
— that night? ” 

“ Damn — no! But I saw your reformed prote- 

geer 

“ Where? ” 

“ In Macy’s, behind the ribbon counter. She 
wished to know why you hadn’t been to see her.” 

“ She’s now honest; so I’ll let her alone. Sylla- 
bize women, old man, and you have a good rea- 
son for avoiding them.” 

“Wo — men! — Not bad. But you seem in 
pretty fair spirits yourself. What’s new? ” 

“ I met Marion yesterday, quite by accident. 

225 


The Short Cut 


She has evidently disbelieved John’s story, for 
she gave me permission to call next Friday.” 

“ Say nothing about it. Ignorance is bliss. 
Besides, you would shock her unnecessarily.” 

“ Nevertheless, I shall tell her the truth. I 
can’t be a hypocrite.” 

“ Well, I hope it will be all right. But some 
women are as jealous as Othello. Wasn’t it he 
who said : ‘ I had rather be a toad and live upon 
the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the 
thing I love for others’ uses ’? ” 

‘‘ Yes ; and later, lago’s wife, angered by the 
Moor’s harsh treatment of Desdemona, elegantly 
likens men to stomachs, and women to the food 
which they eat ‘ hungerly,’ and when satisfied 
belch. The vulgar metaphor is so true that it 
made a great impression on me.” 

“ True of beasts.” 

“ That is, of most men. I hope you’ll marry 
that girl.” 

“ I certainly shall. Do you doubt me? ” 

“ N — no ; but you seem to consider marriage a 
mere incident. It isn’t; it’s a whole lot — to a 
woman. In fact, it is the be-all and end-all of 
226 


George Drops In 

her life. A woman loves less often, but more 
truly than a man; and she is naturally monoga- 
mous, promiscuousness on her part being ac- 
quired. Even prostitutes would be true to their 
lovers did not poverty and the fear of losing the 
wretched objects of their affections impel them 
to the streets; and that they are notoriously cold 
and passionless is due not so much to their ex- 
cesses as to their utter inability to love ‘ on the 
side.’ While woman gives her whole heart, man 
doles out ‘ corners ’ ; hence his passion for many, 
and hers for only one. Nevertheless, to despise 
man for loving easily is imjust, as he simply 
obeys a fixed law necessary for procreation. 
Were his feelings as well conserved as are a 
woman’s, he would populate niggardly, and 
often be rendered useless by some tender disap- 
pointment. 

“ Such is not the eternal scheme. Love, which 
exhausts itself in the submissive sex, is resurrected 
in the aggressive : only that heart which has loved 
wholly not being able to love again. Of course 
there are men who love as absolutely as women; 
but they are rare. 


227 


The Short Cut 


‘‘ I was riding in an open car late one even- 
ing, when I got into conversation with a pretty 
girl, who I suspected was a prostitute. She said, 
confidentially, that she was living uptown with a 
man who had promised to marry her. He was 
not working, and she had come out that night for 
his sake. 

“ ‘ He’ll leave me if I don’t make money,’ she 
complained. 

“ ‘ Do you love him? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Do you think I’d be here if I didn’t? ’ she 
retorted. 

‘ How do you feel with other men? ’ I per- 
sisted curiously. 

“ ‘ I don’t feel,’ she said ; ‘ no more than a 
stone. But I sha’n’t do this long,’ she added more 
cheerfully. ‘ He expects money from his peo- 
ple, and then we’ll get married.’ 

“ Lombroso, in his ‘ Female Offender,’ remarks 
that the average time for a prostitute to remain 
in the ‘ business ’ is from three to four years. A 
vast majority get out of it as soon as possible. 

“ But, pardon me. I have digressed from 
what I most wished to say. I was talking of mar- 
228 


George Drops In 

riage. One may argue that, strictly speaking, it 
is an artificial condition of an unnatural civiliza- 
tion, but none the less is it inconsistent to keep 
minor laws, and to break a big one to which, 
above all others, we should adhere in conformity 
with custom. As we are neither savages nor ani- 
mals, and do not live isolated, we must obey it. 
So far as I am concerned, if Marion won’t have 
me, I shall have nothing more to do with any 
woman.” 

‘‘ But she will,” said Frank warmly. “ No one 
is too good for you, Freddy. We’ll have a 
double wedding.” 

“ George is an original kind of chap,” Barry 
remarked, to change the subject. “ His philos- 
ophy hasn’t be^ edited by education.” 

“ The profoundest philosophers are among the 
least learned,” said Holbrook. 

‘‘ And the profoundest learned are the greatest 
fools,” cried a merry voice. At the same time a 
freckled face, surmounted by a mat of red hair, 
peeped from behind the door. 

“ Speak of the devil — ” shouted Fred. — 
“ Come in, George, and make yourself homely.” 

229 


The Short Cut 


“ Can’t — Nature’s beaten me by a nose,” re- 
plied George, touching his retrousse knob. 

“ That’s your special sore point.” 

“ Not it,” said George coolly. “ I split a 
finger open this morning. But thanks for 
your compliment. The devil’s a prince, you 
know.” 

“ One can’t snub George,” remarked Frank. 

“ His nose can,” said Fred maliciously. — “ Sit 
down, old man.” 

“I’d rather lie — it’s easier,” and George 
threw himself on the lounge. “ Gimme a cigar, 
Fred. Thanks. I just left ‘ Cohen, the Jew.’ 
Struck him for a tenner. Not that I wanted it, 
but I wished to say something disagreeable. That 
man gives away notes only when he whistles ; then 
they’re false. I wish I had his money, though — 
without his carcass. Ugh! I hate him! Rich 
men are no good. They succeed because they’re 
small, and they’re not great because they’re not 
big ; and they’re rich because they’re mean, rather 
than mean because they’re rich.” 

Fred laughed. 

“ A rich widow invited me to lunch at her 
230 


George Drops In 

house the other night,” George rattled on. “ The 
butler was fine-looking, the table very handsome, 
the silverware massive and beautifully polished — 
but I couldn’t eat any of those things. After the 
luncheon, which was excellent as an appetizer, 
I went out and had a poor but honest meal at 
Mink’s.” 

“ I don’t blame you, George,” said Fred sym- 
pathetically, “ for, after one has luncheoned fash- 
ionably on a slice of meat that can be seen 
through, wafer-thin buttered toast, and Saratoga 
chips, with perhaps a cup of tea and preserves, 
one does enjoy corned beef and cabbage, or sink- 
ers and coffee.” 

“ And rich folks’ dinners aren’t much better,” 
growled George. “ They feed your eyes all 
right, but not your stomach.” 

“ Isn’t that enough? ” put in Frank. “ There’s 
a song: 

“ ‘ Drink to me only with thine eyes.’ ” 

“ The song be damned,” said George rudely. 
‘‘ Here’s a fashionable dinner: ‘ Style ’ soup, as 
pure and clear as water; ‘ style ’ entree and roast, 
231 


The Short Cut 


sauced with some unanalyzable fluid, and further 
ranked with thimblefuls of wines and liquors; a 
‘ style ’ bird, good for one bite; ‘ style ’ salad and 
a ‘ style ’ dessert ; then coffee, brandy, cordials, 
cigars, and cigarettes. The whole small but aw- 
ful mixture in the stomach is then medicated with 
a pill or two to insure the dinner’s or the diner’s 
dissolution. You know it’s quite fashionable now 
to take a pill after eating.” 

“ A quite plentiful dinner, George, as you’ve 
described it,” Frank observed. “ You know, 

“ ‘ Little drops of water, little grains of sand, 

Make the mighty ocean and the beauteous land.’ ” 

“ Your friend is very literary this morning, 
Fred,” said George sarcastically. 

“ ’Tis better to be literary than Woodbury,” 
drawled Frank, who felt funny. “ By the way, 
how is Woodbury? I haven’t seen him at the 
gymnasium lately.” 

“Woodbury,” replied George, puffing his 
cigar contemplatively, “ has just sufficient intel- 
ligence to be an aggressive fool — one of the worst 
varieties. He requested my subscription to re- 
232 


George Drops In 

build a church. ‘ What happened to it? ’ said I. 
‘ Struck by lightning/ said he. ‘ Then,’ said I, 
‘ as God set fire to His own house, I’d be an ass 
to help build Him another.’ 

“ He asked me once how often I took a bath. 
‘Once a week,’ I told him. ‘Indeed,’ said he; 
‘ I bathe every day.’ ‘ I don’t blame you,’ said 
I ; ‘ but were you as clean as I am, you wouldn’t 
need to bathe so often.’ 

“ He’s forever harping on the evils of drinking 
and smoking,” George continued. “ One day he 
showed me a clipping he had cut out of a news- 
paper, which stated that Silas Somebody had 
reached the remarkable age of one hundred and 
three, without ever having tasted liquor or even 
sniffed tobacco. 

“ ‘ How extraordinary ! ’ I murmured ; ‘ but 
some men’s constitutions can stand anything.’ ” 

“What’s that sticking out of your pocket, 
George? ” Fred asked. “ A billet-doux? ” 

“ It is not. It’s a due-bill. But that re- 
minds me. Let me have some paper and an 
envelope.” 

“What for?” 


233 


The Short Cut 


“ To splatter my brains on. I must write to — 
somebody. She asked me not to.” 

“ So you will? ” 

“ Certainly. A safe rule of conduct with wom- 
en is to do those things which they say you ought 
not to do, and to leave undone what they say you 
ought to have done. She knew I’d write. A 
woman has a subtle way of making a man do 
things. She does as she likes, and he — does as 
she likes.” 

“ You ought to get married, George.” 

“ Never. I’ll tell you why. Women are of 
two varieties — cold and warm. A cold one is 
pleasant, but not enjoyable; a warm one is en- 
joyable, but not pleasant. Now, did I marry the 
former, I wouldn’t trust myself ; and did I marry 
the latter, I wouldn’t trust her. But I must go. 
I’ll write that letter later.” 

“ Don’t forget your umbrella,” admonished 
Holbrook. 

“ Let him,” said Fred. “ A man who car- 
ries an umbrella such a day as this deserves to 
lose it.” 

“Any fool knows enough to carry one if it 
234 


George Drops In 

rains,” George retorted, seizing his rain-shield. 
“ Good-bye.” 

“ I’m going to Park Row,” said Barry, rising 
a few minutes later. “ Go downstairs and talk 
with the pater. I’ll see you Sunday, after I’ve 
seen Marion.” 


235 


CHAPTER XXI 


FRED ASKS AND IT IS NOT GIVEN UNTO HIM 

Friday evening Mrs. and Miss Leeds sat 
tete-a-tete in the drawing-room of their home. 
John had gone out, and Mr. Leeds was dining 
at the club. 

“Really, Marion,” the elder woman was ex- 
postulating, “you are too trying. First you 
dismiss Percy Westervelt for no apparent rea- 
son excepting that he is rich and altogether de- 
sirable, and now you calmly inform me that 
you expect Mr. Barry here in a few minutes — a 
man who, according to your own brother, is a 
reckless rounder. Your father will be very an- 
gry. He has forbidden you to see him.” 

Marion replied scornfully: “ You may all be- 
lieve what you please, but I sha’n’t listen to a 
slanderer. Mr. Barry is a gentleman, and until 
he disproves himself, I shall receive him.” 

“ He’s a common, penniless reporter.” 

236 


Fred Asks and it is Not Given Unto Him 

“ Pennies don’t make blood,” retorted Marion 
with spirit; “ and were I a man, I’d rather be an 
intelligent reporter than a cunning gambler.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ Oh, nothing common, I assure you. I mean 
gentlemen stockbrokers like Mr. Westervelt’s fa- 
ther. To speak plainly, such men are mere pan- 
ders to avarice.” 

“ You are positively shocking,” Mrs. Leeds 
gasped. “ I shall inform your father that you 
have disregarded his wishes.” 

Marion made no reply; and when, soon after, 
the butler entered bearing a card, Mrs. Leeds 
hastily left the room. 

“Ask Mr. Barry please to come up,” said 
Marion, after she had glanced at the name. 

The man withdrew; and she went to the win- 
dow and looked out at the quiet stars. Their 
bright steadfastness calmed her. “ If my life 
could bum as brightly and enduringly as they! ” 
she thought wistfully. 

“ Marion? ” 

She turned quickly. “Mr. Barry, how you 
startled me! You came in like a ghost.” 

237 


The Short Cut 


“ That does not haunt you as you do me/’ said 
Fred gravely. “ Of what were you thinking? ” 

“ Of the stars,” 

“ They are beautiful, are they not? ” 

“ More — ^they are sublime,” she said softly. 

“ Your eyes are as bright as they.” 

“ The stars are cold,” she answered. 

He strained her to his breast, and kissed her 
lips. “ You love me? ” he whispered. 

She drew away from him. He stretched out 
an imploring arm. “ Marion, come here.” 

She looked at him without speaking. 

“ Do you see that star,” he went on, “ brighter, 
more beautiful than any of the rest? That is 
you, and I will be your sun. Like it, my love is 
vast, burning, and will endure forever.” 

Marion’s face dimpled with sudden laughter. 
“ Your metaphor is unfortunate,” she said with 
pretty practicality. “ The sun gets angry every 
evening, and stays out all night.” She became 
serious, and continued: “Yet how like the sun is 
a man’s love: Fervid in its summer, in its winter 
cold; often hidden, but always moving and shift- 
ing its light from star to star.” 

238 


Fred Asks and it is Not Given Unto Him, 

He broke in impulsively, his quick wit tuning 
hers: “ Sweet little star, to spurn the fickle sun! 
Although, did Phoebus’ eye rest on you, to bum 
you to his breast, he’d stop his flight, leaving other 
worlds in darkness. But look at yon twinklers 
joined with thread of gold. Rather let those be 
our loves; fixed, immovable, and everlasting.” 

Without, the air was burdened with hoarse 
shouts and distant clang of cars; but these two 
heard only the beating of their hearts. 

“ What do you know of love? ” Fred asked. 

She remained silent. 

‘‘ Did you love Mr. — Westervelt? ” he asked 
cruelly. 

Marion’s lips quivered, then drooped like a 
lovely flower, harshly hurt. 

“ Forgive me,” he exclaimed miserably. “ I’m 
not good and sweet like you. I’m suspicious and 
cynical and jealous and ” 

She laid a soft hand on his lips. 

He covered it with kisses, and continued : “ The 
only good in me is my love for you. That, at 
least, is not bad. Perfect love is perfect happi- 
ness, and Heaven is Heaven because it is all love.” 

239 


The Short Cut 

He had drawn her to him, and she felt power- 
less to resist. 

“ To think that you love me! ” he said passion- 
ately. 

“ Don’t think — know that I do. But love is 
weak,” she added, a sudden sense of shame over- 
whelming her. 

“ It is a giant that rules Heaven and will one 
day conquer the world,” he answered. “ I can- 
not forget the night I saw you at the ball. You 
were near the far end of the room; a spirit that 
seemed rather than was — your smile so sweet as 
to be almost unearthly. It is only now, holding 
you in my arms, that I realize you are a living, 
breathing woman.” 

She looked up at him confidently. ‘‘It is not 
true,” she asseverated in a low voice, “ that my 
brother saw you with some — person.” 

The abrupt irrelevancy of her half question 
stunned him, yet he managed to say, “ It is 
true.” 

She shivered and pushed away from him. “ I 
told my brother he lied,” she said with forced 
calmness ; “ that no lips had power to condemn 
240 


Fred Asks and it is Not Given Unto Him 

you but your own. Now I understand all. I 
thought you incapable of — I — ” Her voice 
choked, but she went on: “ You are a monster, 
indulgent to yourself and intolerant toward 
others. You condemned me unheard, and then 
you — To think that I allowed you to touch me! 
The shame of it! ” 

“ Marion, listen to me.” He stood with his 
head held proudly erect, facing her. “ I am not 
good — ^what you once thought me — I realize and 
acknowledge it. I could have lied to you, but I 
will not be a hypocrite. If you love me, it must 
be as I am; otherwise, it were a fool’s paradise 
for us both. The night I left your house so ab- 
ruptly I was half mad. I saw you in the con- 
servatory, and there died my newborn belief in 
goodness, love, truth. The next day I met her. 
What followed you cannot understand; being a 
woman, you cannot. My passion was as wide 
from love as the body is from the soul. What 
feeling I had was a bubble dissipated by a touch. 
Soon its blank emptiness was forced upon me, 
and I was taught the eternal truism of sin and 
punishment. I learned, also, that, though pas- 
241 


The Short Cut 


sion may override love, it cannot conquer it. 
After two weeks we separated. Then I heard 
from Frank Holbrook of a cousin to whom he 
said you were once engaged; and thus the inci- 
dent that had crushed me became explicable. 
Still I did not seek you. I felt myself too vile 
even to think of you. From that time I strove 
to become better. I realize that I am unworthy 
of your love — yet, I would have it. Without it 
I care not what becomes of me. If my confes- 
sion has damned me forever in your eyes, so be 
it. At least, I shall not have lied to you. Mari- 
on, speak to me. Say you forgive, that you will 
forget what I was, and think of me only as I am. 
Bid me but hope, and I will try so hard to win 
back your respect and to deserve your love.” 

A clock ticked distinctly. Outside the leaves 
of a tree rustled. At last Marion spoke: “ I for- 
give you, because you have dared the truth. Had 
you denied everything, I would have believed 
your word against the whole world.” 

He was mentally prostrated by her magnan- 
imity and stammered, “ You do not under- 
stand.” 


242 


Fred Asks and it is Not Given Unto Him 

“ I understand all. You have been weak, but 
you have also been strong.’’ 

“ Marion, will you be my vdfe? ” 

She answered, trembling, “ Though I shall 
love you always, I can never belong to you.” 

“ Why? ” 

“ My parents will not consent.” 

“ They wish you to marry Mr. Westervelt? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you do not love him? ” 

“ No.” 

“ And they are Christians,” he said bitterly, 
“ in whose opinion respect and toleration, pro- 
vided the one selected has money, are enough 
excuse for the marriage sacrament — sacrament! 
God forgive me; I had better said sacrilege. It 
is charitable to think that those who approve such 
alliances err through ignorance. But a union for 
worldly advantage brings its punishment; for 
human nature craves love as a right, which, if it 
cannot obtain legitimately, it will get some other 
way. It is that which makes husbands and wives 
faithless, and which fills the divorce courts. Those 
who deplore divorce seemingly do all they can 
243 


The Short Cut 


to foster conditions that make it imperative. 
They would then lop the buds of escape, leaving 
the bare stalks to rot and to spread their corrup- 
tion everywhere. They speak of the home as the 
nucleus of society and state. So it is ; but neither 
society nor state should be recruited from loveless 
homes, that are an abomination in that they 
dwarf men’s faculties and degrade and estrange 
their children. Where love is, divorce is un- 
known; and where love is not, divorce is a kind 
providence that forgives our error and bids us 
profit by it. It is said that divorcees should not 
remarry. Why? Man is prone to one mistake, 
and chary of two. He should have, therefore, a 
second chance. He may then form a proper 
home, his first wife may do likewise, when the 
state will have two decent families instead of one 
disreputable one. They say, ‘ love will come.’ 
But how do they know? Suppose it doesn’t? 
And has anyone a right to incur the risk? I 
verily believe that Christians — so called — hold the 
wires that make us poor puppets dance so evilly. 

“ To obviate divorce, true Christians should 
discourage ‘ practical ’ marriages, and encourage 
244 


Fred Asks and it is Not Given Unto Him 

love matches. But one woman on earth can be 
trusted — the woman who loves ; and her, no temp- 
tation nor power of state or nation can separate 
from her husband. 

‘‘ You say you love me, Marion, and you are 
satisfied that I love you; why, then, in justice to 
yourself and to me, will you not marry me? ” 

“ Is there not something higher than justice to 
one’s self? ” 

“ No, darling,” Fred answered. “ To be true 
to one’s self is to be true to all humanity.” 

“ But how can we get married, dear? ” 

“ I must see your father. Is he home? ” 

“ I expect him soon; but I feel sure he will not 
consent.” 

“ Nevertheless, I shall ask him.” 

A heavy step sounded in the hall. 

“ Father! ” Marion whispered hurriedly. 

“ Ah — good evening — er — Mr. Barr>%” said 
Mr. Leeds, entering. He spoke politely enough, 
but Marion saw that he was greatly annoyed on 
perceiving who was her visitor. 

“ Good evening, Mr. Leeds,” replied Fred 
calmly ; then he added, going straight to the 
245 


The Short Cut 


point : “ If you can spare a few minutes, I should 
like to speak with you about a matter of impor- 
tance.” 

Mr. Leeds frowned. ‘‘ You may come to my 
study, if my daughter will excuse us.” 

Marion nodded a faint assent. 

“ Have a chair,” said the banker, after he had 
reached his sanctum and closed the door. 

“ Thank you.” 

“ May I offer you a cigar? ” 

“ I prefer not to smoke just now.” 

“Well, what can I do for you?” And the 
man of money looked coldly at his interlocutor. 

“ I wish to marry your daughter,” said Barry 
bluntly. 

Mr. Leeds stared. “ I do not understand.” 

“ Is not my meaning clear? ” 

“ I comprehend your words, young man, but 
not the motive that prompts them,” said the 
banker sternly. 

“ I love your daughter, and I have no motive 
other than to make her happy.” 

“ Humph! What does she say? ” 

“ She loves me.” 


246 


Fred Asks and it is Not Given Unto Him 

Mr. Leeds glared. “ Impossible! 

“ It is a fact, incredulous as it may appear,” 
said Fred, smiling in spite of himself. 

“ How much do you make? ” 

“ In six months I expect to clear about a hun- 
dred dollars a week.” 

“ A mere pittance.” 

“ Something besides money is required to make 
a woman happy,” Fred observed dryly. 

“ Money has nothing to do with it — ^nothing 
at all. And now I shall be frank with you, and 
bring this interview to a close. My daughter,” 
speaking slowly, “ shall never marry you with my 
consent. No, sir; not if you had a million a 
year ! ” 

“ Then I shall marry her without your con- 
sent.” 

“ What! ” 

“ I shall marry her without your consent. I 
do not need you nor your money, but I will have 
Marion.” 

The old gentleman became apoplectic. “ You 
impertinent puppy! ” he spluttered. “ Leave my 
house! I ought to kick you downstairs.” 

247 


The Short Cut 


“ Thank you,” said Fred coolly; “ I prefer to 
walk down. Good night.” 

After his visitor had gone Mr. Leeds grew 
calmer. “ The scoundrel has nerve,” he muttered, 
“ and the cheek of the Wandering Jew. Yet 
there’s something about him I like. He’s honest. 
By Jove, if he wasn’t such a blackguard, I might 
give in after all.” 

Meanwhile the “ scoundrel ” had entered the 
room where Marion was awaiting him with fear- 
ful expectancy. 

“ What did he say? ” she asked eagerly. 

“ He withheld his consent,” answered Fred 
grimly. “ Come out to the door with me. Ma- 
rion, we must run away.” 

“ Oh, Fred! ” 

“ Order your carriage Monday at four o’clock. 
At five drive to the Caldorf. I shall be waiting 
for you in the ladies’ parlor, with Frank Hol- 
brook, whom we shall need for a witness. An 
hour later no one will have power over us but 
ourselves.” 

“ Fred, I cannot — I dare not.” 

“ You must if you love me. It’s the only way. 

248 


Fred Asks and it is Not Given Unto Him 

But, darling, what need we care? I make enough 
to support us both comfortably.” 

“ If I do as you say,” said Marion, looking 
straight at her lover, “ father will disown me, and 
I shall have nothing. For myself, I am satis- 
fied ; but you ” 

“ Poor I shall have the best woman in the 
world.” 

“ Marion, come upstairs.” 

The lovers started. 

“ Father is calling me. Goodbye, sweetheart.” 
For an instant he held her in close embrace. 
“ Promise you will meet me.” 

“ I — I — promise,” she said faintly. — “ Com- 
ing, father.” 


249 


CHAPTER XXII 


PLOTTING 

“ I don’t wish to be precipitate, nor do I de- 
sire to appear impatient, but I’m damned if I can 
stand this much longer!” It was the Sunday 
morning following that the usually calm Frank, 
stretched at ease on his chum’s sofa, exploded thus 
mildly. 

Barry awaited something more explicit. 

“ I can’t live without Pauline,” Frank contin- 
ued. “ The poor child says she will be guided 
entirely by me, but I know she’s worried, and I 
think I ought to marry her immediately. You 
saw Marion Friday. Did you get her? ” 

“ Yes, I’ve got her.” 

“ Where? ” asked Frank. 

“ Not here,” replied Fred, laughing. “ She 
has merely promised to marry me.” 

“ I congratulate you, old man. I knew she 
loved you. But when? I suppose you’ll have to 
250 


Plotting 

announce the engagement, get a trousseau, send 
out invitations, and so on? ” 

“ Not at all,” said Fred dryly. ‘‘ There’ll be 
no guests at our wedding. We’re going to 
elope.” 

Holbrook’s eyes sparkled. “ Good ! How 
soon? ” 

“ To-morrow.” 

“ Better yet. Wouldn’t the old man consent? ” 

“ No. He ordered me from the house.” 

“ Then you fixed it with Marion? ” 

“ Yes. She will meet me at five o’clock in the 
Caldorf.” 

“ Did she mention your — er — escapade? ” 

“ I made a clean breast of it.” 

“ The devil! Then, depend upon it, she won’t 
show up.” 

“ What do you mean? She forgave me abso- 
lutely.” 

“ My dear fellow, with all due respect to your 
understanding and experience, you don’t know 
women. While with you, Marion was influenced, 
carried away by your magnetism — besides, you’re 
a good talker; but when she is alone, she will 
251 


The Short Cut 


think, then doubt, and afterwards fear. In cold 
blood she will not dare to take this step.” 

Fred smiled. ‘‘ Your reasoning is subtle, and 
I have no doubt true in regard to most women, 
but it will not apply in this case. Marion has 
promised, and I feel as sure of her as of myself.” 
“ But where do I come in? ” 

“ You don’t — unless you have faith in me and 
in Marion.” 

“ I have. What’s your plan? ” 

“ Simply this: “Meet me at four o’clock to- 
morrow with Pauline. At a quarter to five we 
shall go to the hotel, there to await Marion. A 
minister will do the rest. Such is my scheme, 
provided you can maintain your state of single 
cursedness for a few hours longer.” 

“Hum,” said Frank; “it is beautifully sim- 
ple. Have you engaged a clergyman? ” 

“ Not yet.” 

“ Then don’t. Leave it to me. And after- 
wards what? Will you leave town? ” 

“No. I shall take Marion to my father, then 
call immediately on Mr. Leeds to apprise him 
of what I have done.” 


252 


Plotting 

“ Suppose he refuses his forgiveness? ” 

‘‘ I shall none the less cherish and love Marion 
‘ in sickness and in health, for better, for worse, 
till death do us part,’ ” averred Barry solemnly. 

“You’re a trump, Fred. Marion’s a lucky 
girl.” 

“ So is Pauline. By the way, I haven’t met her 
yet.” 

“ We’ll go and see her now,” said Frank, 
rising. “ She has rooms at the Hotel.” 

“ Shall we hail a cab? ” asked Holbrook, when 
they had reached the street. 

“ No. The trolley’s quicker.” 

The car which they boarded was not crowded, 
and the two men found seats at the forward end. 
At Thirty-fourth Street a score of persons were 
waiting. 

“ Step lively now,” shouted the motorman, 
opening the front gate. He spoke so savagely 
that several of the prospective passengers looked 
indignant. A delicate-appearing woman was 
knocked roughly to the floor as the car jerked 
forward. 

“ What a brute ! ” murmured sympathetic 
253 


The Short Cut 

voices around her; and they inquired solicitously 
if she was hurt. 

Those men have no consideration for any- 
body,” observed an elderly gentleman. 

Again the car stopped. This time the motor- 
man descended from the platform. The passen- 
gers, thinking an accident had occurred, peered 
curiously, and marveled to see the “ brute ” ten- 
derly assist an old woman up the steps. 

As he opened the door and led her to a seat, 
she thanked him gratefully. 

Now was the need of hurry forgotten, the 
schedule of no account — ^humanity was para- 
moimt. The woman was blind. 

The most observant of the observers of this 
incident was Fred Barry. For some minutes he 
remained thoughtful, then said to his companion: 
“ Isn’t it odd how trifles demonstrate great 
truths? That man’s brutal indifference to any 
possible discomfort or pain which his roughness 
might inflict on others has been equaled only 
by his tender consideration in the presence of 
actual suffering. 

‘‘We don’t realize half of the evil we do; if 
254 


Plotting 

we did, we wouldn’t do it. Could we only foresee 
the suffering entailed by our wickedness, nine 
tenths of it would never be perpetrated. Human 
nature were good, did not thoughtlessness and 
ignorance make it bad ; and not till enlightenment 
shall change this thoughtlessness and ignorance 
to thoughtfulness and wisdom will the world be 
happier. If, for example, a seducer were pre- 
cognizant of the fruits of his infamy he would 
curb his passion. Could a father who disowns his 
son actually witness his boy’s sufferings he would 
forgive ; and had those church people, whose slan- 
ders recently drove a young woman to suicide, 
foreseen the event, they would have bitten out 
their tongues rather than have gossiped. 

“ As for war — that will be abolished only when 
the country comes not merely to know, but fully 
to realize war’s horrors. It is a beautiful provi- 
sion of nature that sin breeds knowledge which, 
when strong enough, will destroy its parent; so 
the best way to reform humanity is to allow it 
rope enough to hang itself. 

“ Too much thought is expended on our neigh- 
bors — ^what they should do, say, eat, drink, and 
255 


The Short Cut 


so on. We are suffering from a plethora of dicta- 
torship. Evil eventually evolves good. A man 
groAvs beastly, becomes disgusted, and forsakes 
his beastliness; just as sweet water, allowed to 
stand, gets fouler and more foul, until finally it is 
purified by its own impurities. 

“ When we tell a man he is doing wrong, we 
say simply what he already knows, what his con- 
science reiterates more insistingly than we. He 
will be good when he learns the desirability of 
goodness, and not before. Therefore, if we ad- 
vise at all, we should bring about a change of 
heart by arguments demonstrating the foolish- 
ness of a sinful course rather than seek to enforce 
obedience to laws which one has a mind to trans- 
gress. 

“ It has always seemed to me a pity that the 
sublimity of religion should be most often pre- 
sented ridiculously ” 

“ Good heavens, Fred,” interrupted Holbrook, 
“ your command of language and discursiveness 
would elicit admiration on the stage, or win con- 
verts if spouted from a pulpit — ^here they lack 
space. Why don’t you write a sermon — or a 
256 


Plotting 

book? You find texts everywhere. But we get 
out here; then we have two blocks to walk, and 
we are there.” 

While the chums were being piloted to Pau- 
line’s apartment Fred delayed discreetly, so that 
Holbrook entered the suite a little ahead of him. 

Pauline was ensconced near the window, en- 
grossed with a large book that looked suspiciously 
scientific. 

“ What are you reading, sweetheart? ” Frank 
asked gently. 

Pauline started, letting the book fall. Then 
with a cry of delight she ran and clung to her 
lover as though she would never let him go. Sud- 
denly her face crimsoned. “Oh!” she stam- 
mered, catching sight of Barry, who had just 
come in. “ I did not know — I thought you were 
alone.” 

“ Don’t mind Fred,” said Frank carelessly. 
“ We’re almost each other. — Fred, my fiancee^ 
Miss Sterling. — Miss Sterling, Mr. Barry.” 

“ I am very pleased to know you,” murmured 
Pauline. 

“ May you always be,” Barry rejoined, as he 
257 


The Short Cut 

imprisoned the tiny fingers which she extended 
to him. 

Holbrook stooped to pick up the book. 
“What’s this?” he said, smiling. “Darwin’s 
‘ Descent of Man.’ ” 

“ You know you were speaking of Darwin and 
his theories yesterday,” Pauline explained; “so 
I got that book at a library. I wish to know 
about everything that interests you.” 

“ Beauty plus brains,” thought Fred. Then 
he said: “Frank, I congratulate you; and you 
also. Miss Sterling. There’s no finer man alive 
than the one you’ve chosen. I love him as I do 
myself.” 

“ Not better? ” queried Pauline. 

“ There’s only one I love better.” 

“ Ah, you are going to be married, too,” she 
said with quick intuition. 

“ And at the same time you are.” 

“ When? ” she asked wonderingly. 

“ To-morrow.” 

Pauline flushed and looked at Frank, who said 
quietly, “ Is that too soon, little one? ” 

“ I am so glad,” she said simply. 

258 


Plotting 

“ Will you be ready? ” pursued Frank. 

“ Will — will we be married in church? ” 

“ There won’t be time. But we’ll get a min- 
ister. That’s all that’s necessary.” 

Fred then explained his plans and the circum- 
stances which necessitated them. 

“ It doesn’t seem right,” Pauline objected. “It 
looks imderhand.” 

Fred colored. “Not ‘ underhand,’ Miss Ster- 
ling. I told Mr. Leeds plainly that I would 
marry his daughter in spite of him.” 

“ Come, little one,” put in Frank. “ Fred’s 
twenty-eight and Marion’s twenty-three, and 
both love each other; so why in heaven’s name 
shouldn’t they get married? If I had opposition, 
I’d marry you in spite of the devil.” 

“ He’d be a devil who’d oppose you,” remarked 
Fred gracefully. 

“ I fear your friend flatters,” said Pauline, 
smiling. 

Barry rose to go. 

“ You are not offended? ” Pauline asked. 

“ Not even a little bit. Au revoir. Miss Ster- 
ling. Frank — a demain^ 

259 


CHAPTER XXIII 


CONSUMMATION 

Monday morning broke gray and sullen. By 
afternoon a cold rain was falling. These adverse 
conditions, however, in no wise disconcerted the 
three conspirators, who met at the rendezvous 
promptly at the time agreed upon. 

“ How long a furlough did you get, Fred? ” 
Holbrook asked. 

“ Two months.” 

“What if she shouldn’t come?” said Pauline, 
who looked charming in a suit of plain black. 

Fred glanced at his watch, and remarked 
quietly that it yet lacked fifteen minutes to 
five. 

Presently there was a frou-frou of skirts, as of 
a woman walking hurriedly, and Marion en- 
tered. Her face was deadly pale. She started 
upon seeing Pauline; then their eyes met, and 
with one impulse they embraced each other. At 
260 


Consummation 


such a time the sympathy of her own sex was 
peculiarly grateful to either. 

“ Miss Leeds, my fiancee. Miss Sterling,” said 
Holbrook. “ You dismissed your carriage? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Good — I have a motor car waiting. Are we 
all ready? ” 

Silently the four left the hotel. 

As he helped Marion into the car, Fred felt 
her press heavily on his arm. Sudden fear pos- 
sessed him, and he whispered tenderly: “ Darling, 
you realize what you are doing — you have no 
regret? ” 

“I regret nothing,” she answered low; “and 
I have no wish but to be yours now and always.” 

Holbrook whispered their destination to the 
chauffeur, and ordered him to drive fast. 

“ Where are we going? ” asked Pauline, seiz- 
ing her lover’s hand as they were whirled rapidly 
along. 

Holbrook regarded her reproachfully as he 
said: “Questions imply distrust. Remember, 
you all left everything to me.” 

Up Fifth Avenue sped the car, no sound now 
261 


The Short Cut 


coming from it but that made by the rapidly 
puffing exhaust and the whirring wheels. In- 
deed, all were too busy with their thoughts to 
speak. Past the successive double rows of houses 
and innumerable cross-streets, dodging around, 
and then rushing by the more slowly moving ve- 
hicles, they soon came to where the roadway was 
more open, when the chauffeur let out a few 
notches more. 

Now they were in the suburbs, the car running 
smoothly and steadily, but at a prodigious speed. 

‘‘Oh — oh!” exclaimed Pauline, clinging in 
fear to her lover. “ Isn’t it dangerous, Frank, 
dear, to go so fast? ” 

“ I just love it,” said Marion. She was lean- 
ing forward, her cheeks flushed and her hair blow- 
ing wantonly about her face, every line of which 
expressed the keenest enjoyment. “ It makes my 
blood dance to feel an irresistible force hurling 
me through space.” 

“ Our blood’ll stop dancing if our irresistible 
force hits some immovable body,” remarked Fred 
dryly. 

All laughed at this sally, even the chauffeur. 

262 


Consummation 


Presently the machine slackened its speed and 
turned suddenly into a gateway formed by high 
trimmed hedges ; then it ran smoothly over a mac- 
adamized road, skirted on either side by tall trees, 
through openings in which, to the right, could 
be seen a small artificial lake, spanned by a rustic 
bridge. White swans could also be discerned 
through the dusk swimming leisurely on its 
smooth expanse, every now and again plunging 
their long graceful necks deep beneath its sur- 
face. 

“How beautiful!” murmured Pauline and 
Marion in a breath. 

They proceeded farther and came upon quaint 
little summerhouses, ivy-clad and carpeted with 
moss. The car was moving slowly now on a nar- 
row road made tortuous by many flower beds, 
when it rounded a sharp bend and stopped be- 
fore an imposing stone edifice that would have 
looked like a mediaeval castle had it not been for 
a wide piazza, completely inclosed in glass, that 
extended along its entire front, and part way 
back on each side. Not a breath of air disturbed 
by the rustle of a leaf a stillness that was only 
263 


The Short Cut 

intensified by the purling murmur of a distant 
brook. 

“ Well, what do you think of the place? ” asked 
Holbrook, after he had dismissed his chauffeur, 
who, the rest of the party noticed, chugged to a 
handsome garage situated near the house. 

Then, seeing that his three companions were 
literally dumb with astonishment, he continued: 
“You will observe also that, besides a garage, I 
have a stable with four fine horses in it, one for 
each of us.” 

Fred was the first to find his tongue. “ Are 
these — er — house and grounds and — appurte- 
nances yours? ” he demanded. 

“Not mine exactly,” replied Holbrook. “They 
belong to us all.” 

“ But — ” began Fred. 

“ But me no buts,” Frank interrupted. “ La- 
ter I’ll explain everything.” 

All mounted in silence the marble steps. 

“ First let us explore a bit,” Frank suggested 
as he passed through the massive front door which 
opened mysteriously at his touch. “ But wait a 
moment. It’s growing dark.” He felt about 
264 


C omummation 


the wall till his finger touched a concealed but- 
ton, which he pressed, and immediately the whole 
house was brightly illuminated. 

Forthwith he led his wondering companions 
through several cozy parlors, a large drawing- 
room and a dining room — all furnished most lux- 
uriously; then through an Oriental smoking den, 
a billiard and card room and a splendidly 
equipped library. 

On the top floor they peeped into the sleeping 
apartments, exquisitely dainty, and each opening 
into a perfectly appointed bathroom connected 
with an artistic boudoir. 

In the butler’s pantry, which they next visited, 
they saw the most costly plate. Beautiful cab- 
inets in the dining room revealed through their 
glass doors whiskey and liqueur layouts and 
seemingly every variety of cut glassware. Then 
a large safe, which Holbrook opened, was found 
full of massive silver — knives, forks, spoons, la- 
dles, etc., of various- sizes and designs. 

“ Now would you like to descend to the kitchen 
to see whether the cupboard, like Old Mother 
Hubbard’s, is bare? ” Frank asked. 

265 


The Short Cut 


A chorus of delighted ‘‘ yeses ” answered him. 

As soon as they saw it, all voted the kitchen 
to be one of the best rooms in the house. It was 
very large and dazzlingly clean, with an immense 
coal range, a smaller gas range, and a complete 
stock of every kind of cooking utensil. Opening 
into it was a laundry; and off that, the servants’ 
bathroom. 

What Frank had referred to as a “ cupboard ” 
was a refrigerator big enough for a man to enter, 
and there were hung in it several chickens, four 
canvasback ducks, a huge prime cut of beef, two 
hams and a side of bacon. 

“ Thank heaven, the cupboard’s not bare,” 
ejaculated Fred feelingly. ‘‘I’m hungry al- 
ready.” 

“ Outer formalities must precede any gratifi- 
cation of our inner needs,” said Holbrook sol- 
emnly. 

“ Can you cook, Frank? ” pursued Barry. 

“ No — that is, not very well,” Holbrook con- 
fessed. 

“ I can,” said Pauline eagerly. “ I used often 
to cook at home before I came to New York.” 

266 


C onsummation 


Holbrook smiled as he said affectionately: “ I 
don’t doubt, darling, that you’re the best cook in 
the world; but you won’t have any cooking to 
do here. We have servants, of course.” 

“ Servants! ” echoed the ladies. “ We haven’t 
seen any.” 

“ Where’ve you hidden ’em, old man? ” asked 
Fred, laughing. “ In the cellar? ” 

“ Oh, no,” replied Holbrook easily. “ They’re 
in a lodge back of the house. We have a butler 
and a small army of young women; also a gar- 
dener, a chauffeur, and a coachman. I bade 
them keep out of sight until I should summon 
them. And there’s one thing more we have which 
I have not yet mentioned.” 

“ What is that? ” cried his hearers breathlessly. 

“ A cow.” 

Marion and Pauline broke into peals of 
laughter. 

“ Oh, you may laugh,” said Holbrook with 
dignity; “but a cow is a mighty good thing 
to have. Think of the cream and the home- 
made butter and all the rich milk we shall 
have! ” 


267 


The Short Cut 


“Have we chickens, too?” queried Pauline, 
becoming serious. 

“ Lots of them,” replied Frank, “ warranted 
to be the best layers in the country. “ And we 
have ducks and geese and turkeys, and you saw 
the swans.” 

Pauline clapped her hands ecstatically. 

“ By the way,” said Fred, looking worried for 
the first time, “ where’s the minister? You 
haven’t forgotten to get him, I hope? ” 

“ By no means,” answered Holbrook quickly. 
“ He’s safe in the cupola.” 

“ What an odd man you are, Mr. Holbrook, 
to keep a clergyman in such a queer place ! ” said 
Marion, smiling. 

“ Frank isn’t odd, Marion,” put in Fred ; 
“ he’s the evenest man I ever saw. Besides, it’s 
better to keep a clergyman in a cupola, where he’s 
nearer Heaven, than in a cellar, where he’s 
nearer ” 

“ Hush,” said Marion, placing her soft fingers 
on her lover’s lips; “you shouldn’t joke about 
such things.” 

“ Now will you be good? ” laughed Holbrook. 

268 


Consummation 


“ Isn’t it about time,” said Fred, “ you gave us 
the explanation you promised as to how you ob- 
tained this fair estate, ready furnished, serviced 
and stocked? ” 

“ All come with me into the smoking room, 
and I’ll tell you,” said Holbrook. Then he, fol- 
lowed by the others, led the way to the den, where 
all seated themselves on a superb divan half cov- 
ered with hand-embroidered pillows of the most 
exquisite workmanship. 

“ First have a cigar,” said Frank, tossing one 
to his chum — “ provided,” he added politely, 
“ you ladies don’t object.” 

“ I perfectly adore smoke,” said Pauline 
agreeably. 

“ And I,” said Marion. 

“ In the first place,” Holbrook began, “ my 
father knows nothing of this — er — adventure; 
nor does yours — nor yours — nor yours. And 
that is as it should be.” 

He paused to puff contentedly at his cigar; 
then went on: “ We, the principals of this com- 
edy, or tragedy — I don’t know which it will prove 
to be — shall enjoy ourselves by ourselves for 
269 


The Short Cut 


once.” (Puff.) “To-morrow the world; to- 
night Heaven. Where to lay our heads was the 
chief difficulty; but you see I have discounted it. 
And that brings us to business, which I hate and 
will therefore have over as soon as possible. 

“ This house was occupied only a few days 
since by a rich chap with a large family. That 
his lordship — ^he’s a duke, I believe — succeeded 
in surrounding himself and his with certain com- 
forts, not to say luxuries, is apparent. We have 
not yet visited the cellars, which, I have been as- 
sured, are well stocked with wines of a rare vin- 
tage. We’ll sample a few to-night.” (Puff — 
puff — puff.) “ If the worst should happen, and 
the old folks throw us over, I don’t think we’ll 
starve.” (Puff.) “But to return to our bene- 
factor. Unfortunately for him, and most for- 
tunately for us, this rich lord was so miserably 
poor in health that his physician ordered him to 
go abroad immediately. So he sold his entire 
estate, and all that appertained thereto, including 
even his servants, for what he could get. He 
didn’t get much.” (Puff.) “ But that’s business 
— let it pass. Oh! — one thing more. It seems 
270 


Consummation 


that this man was something of a philanthropist 
— ran a children’s hospital. I took that, too, off 
his hands, partly to keep Pauline’s father busy, 
partly to take care of your ‘ sick-and-destitute ’ 
cases ” — making a grimace at Fred — “but most- 
ly to please myself with the knowledge that I 
could be of some use.” (Puff — puff — puff.) 

“ Frank,” said Barry gravely, breaking the 
silence with which he and the two ladies had re- 
ceived his friend’s explanation, “ I congratulate 
you as well on your good fortime as on -your ex- 
cellent taste; and I hope, nay, I feel sure, that 
you and Pauline will be very happy in this 
Eden.” 

“ My dear fellow,” rejoined Holbrook, “ per- 
haps you have not quite grasped my intention, or 
else you do not know me as thoroughly as I have 
thought you did. I am very selfish and very 
determined, not to say headstrong. Had I been 
less selfish I would have bought this place for 
Pauline and myself alone; but I thought we’d 
be lonesome here, and so, to gratify myself, and 
I’m sure also Pauline, I resolved yesterday that 
you and Marion should live with us. The house 
271 


The Short Cut 


being large, there is neither personal sacrifice 
nor any inconvenience involved; wherefore I re- 
peat that my act was a purely selfish one. Of 
course, if it will make you any happier, you may 
bear part of the running expenses. We’ll in- 
augurate an income tax; that is, you and I will 
each contribute a certain percentage of our re- 
spective incomes, I contributing more than you, 
because my income is greater; which arrange- 
ment is only fair. 

“ Now don’t say one word; and don’t be so ab- 
surd as to thank me for having made both Pau- 
line and myself as happy as I possibly could. 

“ Let us immediately visit the cupola and be 
joined for better or worse; then we’ll summon 
the servants and order the dinner; and after- 
wards we’ll eat, drink, and be merry, for to-night 
we’ll be inHeaven,though we wake in the world.” 
He arose and said, “ Come, Pauline.” 

And Fred arose also and bade Marion come to 
him. 

In after years no detail of that eventful night 
was forgotten. The grave clergyman who joined 
272 


Consummation 


them in holy matrimony; the joyous dinner, en- 
livened by the wit and sparkle of perfect happi- 
ness; even the game at billiards which Marion 
and Fred won uproariously by a bare point — 
all were indelible memories. 


273 


CHAPTER XXIV 


RECONCILIATION 

When Marion awoke at ten o’clock the next 
morning, she arose quietly, leaving Fred asleep, 
and slipped on a wrapper. The Venetian blinds 
at the four large windows were down, but the 
slats of one were turned so that they admitted 
narrow streams of sunlight. 

Marion went into the bathroom, and was there 
enjoying a cold shower, when Fred, who had 
been awakened by the noise of the rushing water, 
called, “Are you in there, darling? ” 

“Yes, dear,” replied Marion; “but I’m com- 
ing right out.” 

Soon afterward she reentered the room, with 
her fresh skin a glowing pink. 

“ Come back to bed, sweetheart,” said Fred 
drowsily; and he caught one of her hands and 
tried lazily to pull her down to him. 

But she wrenched her hand free and escaped, 
274 


Reconciliation 


crying merrily: “Do you know what time it 
is, you lazy fellow? It’s half-past ten.” 

“ Oh,” said Barry, stretching himself indo- 
lently, “ I suppose I’ll have to get up.” 

“ Take a shower, and you won’t feel like sleep- 
ing any more,” she urged. 

“ All right,” responded her husband, “ I will,” 
But he did not move. 

“ Fred, please get up,” she implored. 

“ Yes, darling, right away,” he murmured. 

“ If you’re up before I count three,” she con- 
tinued, “ I’ll give you a kiss. One — two — oh, 
Fred!” 

For he had leaped out of the bed at the word 
two, and before she could pronounce the fatal 
three he had her in his arms with his mouth on 
hers. 

“Take your bath now, dear, and hurry; it’s 
awfully late,” she said, at last pushing him from 
her. 

Fifteen minutes later Fred, in a bathrobe, with 
his moustache dripping moisture, came into the 
boudoir where Marion was hastily making her 
toilet. 


275 


The Short Cut 


“How quick you are!” she exclaimed, dis- 
mayed. She had meant to be fully dressed before 
he came in. 

“ One doesn’t stay long with Neptune when 
Venus is waiting,” he said gracefully. 

“ That remark would have sounded even pret- 
tier had you come out of the sea instead of out of 
a bathroom,” Marion observed, laughing. 

Then, after completing her toilet, she waited 
patiently for her husband to complete his, when 
both went downstairs and into the dining room 
together. 

There they found Frank and Pauline waiting 
for them, which was creditable, considering the 
odors that percolated through the edges of vari- 
ous covered dishes on the table. 

After the usual morning greetings, felicita- 
tions, and interested inquiries as to how each had 
slept, Holbrook proposed that they breakfast; 
which they did, with excellent appetites. 

“ Now let us return to the world through the 
newspapers,” Frank suggested; and he bade the 
butler fetch them. 

“ I see,” said Fred, after he had glanced over 
276 


Reconciliation 


the first page of his, “ the usual accounts of bat- 
tles, murders, and sudden deaths. 

“Why!’’ exclaimed Holbrook suddenly, 
“May French is dead! Read it, Fred.” And, 
indicating with his finger a paragraph, he held 
the sheet out to his friend. 

With a hand not perfectly steady, Barry took 
the paper and read through the brief news item. 

“ Poor unfortunate girl! ” he murmured pity- 
ingly. But he noticed that the paper did not 
even hint that she had died by her own hand ; and 
he took some comfort in the thought that she was 
with a man in a hotel when she was stricken. 
Possibly she did not die of heart disease, but 
killed herself; yet, even so, she could not, under 
the circumstances, have committed the horrible 
act on his account. 

“ Who was she, Fred? Did you know her? ” 
asked Marion, who saw with amazement her 
groom’s agitation. 

“ It was she,” replied Fred gravely, “ who 
nearly cost me you.” 

Marion remained silent, and Fred coilld see 
she was displeased. 


277 


The Short Cut 


He went to her, and took her hand, and kissed 
her; for he minded neither of the other two, who 
were as truly in love as was he. “ Dear heart,” 
he whispered, “ why should you be angry? You 
know I never loved her — ^that I love only you. 
But I feel more sorry for her death than I can 
say; for I blame myself bitterly for having en- 
couraged her, though for a short time, in a course 
that ruined her fair life and at last destroyed it. 
I feel that I am at least partly responsible for her 
untimely end.” 

“ ‘Another shoplifter caught with the goods,’ ” 
read Holbrook, anxious to create a diversion. 
“ ‘ A detective in one of the big shops found 
twenty-two dollars’ worth of unbought lace in 
her pocket. The girl, who was young and re- 
markably pretty, said she was Annie Brown; but 
when she was searched at the station house, to 
which she was taken despite her protests, the po- 
lice found in her pocketbook five cents and a card 
inscribed, “ Miss Mildred Trainor.” ’ ” 

“O Lord!” groaned Fred, “that was the 
name of my first wife. She’s gone to the bad, 
too, it seems.” 


278 


Reconciliation 


“ The way of the transgressor is not strewn 
with roses,” observed Frank dryly. 

“ It may be — at first,” remarked Fred; “ but 
soon the roses wither and disappear, leaving only 
their thorns.” 

“Is that the woman you divorced?” Marion 
asked. Fred had told her of his first marriage 
and of its unhappy ending. 

“ It is,” replied Fred. 

“ Marion,” queried Pauline, who had for some 
time been reading her paper intently, “ is Will- 
iam Arthur Leeds your father? ” 

“ Yes,” said Marion, turning pale. “ Has 
anything happened to him? ” 

“No,” responded Pauline; “but something 
must have happened to his bank. It’s closed.” 

“Closed! Impossible!” exclaimed Holbrook. 
“ Let me see it.” 

Pauline handed him the paper, and he read 
that the Gibraltar Bank, of which William Ar- 
thur Leeds was the president, had closed its doors 
yesterday morning. The bank, the paper went 
on to state, was, quite up to the time of its closing, 
generally regarded as being unusually prosperous 
279 


The Short Cut 


and absolutely sound. To press representatives 
who called at his residence, Mr. Leeds gave out 
the statement that the bank’s sudden suspension 
was due to a temporary tie-up of its funds; hut 
that it was solvent and would resume within a 
few months, when all its depositors would be paid 
dollar for dollar. 

“ Poor papa! ” cried Marion, much distressed. 
“ He is in great trouble. I must go ta him im- 
mediately, tell him everything and beg his for- 
giveness.” 

“ We’ll all go,” said Holbrook, rising, “ and 
see whether something can be done to aid him. I 
guess we’ve seen enough of the news this morn- 
ing.” And he threw aside his paper. 

A half-hour later the four were rolling swiftly 
toward the city in the motor-car that had the 
night before taken them out of it. 

Mr. Leeds himself answered their ring. On 
seeing Marion tears rushed to his haggard eyes, 
and he embraced her without speaking. 

He then invited all to come upstairs with him 
into his study. “ Well, Mr. Barry,” he began 
sternly, when, all having entered the room, he 
280 


Reconciliation 

had closed the door, “ what have you to say for 
yourself? ” 

“ Only that I shall try my best to make your 
daughter happy. We were married last night, 
as was also my friend, Mr. Holbrook.” 

The banker gasped. 

“ Mr. Leeds,” put in Holbrook quickly, “ we 
read in the paper this morning that you were in 
some financial difficulty. Perhaps something 
could be done to tide over this trouble.” 

Mr. Leeds was taken aback. “ You are most 
kind, Mr. Holbrook,” he said gratefully; “ but I 
need something like one hundred and fifty thou- 
sand dollars in cash to see me through.” 

“ I think I can raise it,” said Frank confident- 
ly. ‘‘No doubt my father could advance you 
that sum.” 

“ God bless you, my boy, if you can help me 
out in this matter. I’ll give your father my note, 
and pay him back every farthing with interest. 
The bank is perfectly sound, and needs only a lit- 
tle boost. 

“ As for you, Mr. Barry, and my daughter,” 
he continued, “ I forgive you both freely. You’re 
281 


The Short Cut 


married now, and I might as well make the best 
of it, particularly as I believe that my daughter 
loves you, and that you love her. — Your hand, 
Mr. Barry; and yours, Mr. Holbrook. And is 
this Mrs. Holbrook?” he asked, smiling at Pau- 
line. “ Give me your hand, too, my dear.” 

At this juncture the door opened and Mrs. 
Leeds came in. “ Why, daughter,” she cried in 
amazement, “ where have you been? You’ve 
frightened us all pretty nearly to death.” 

“ She’s gone and got married,” said Mr. Leeds, 
“ and that young lady ” — indicating Pauline 
with a nod of his head — “ has gone and done the 
same thing. But it’s all right, my dear. They’re 
two as handsome couples as I ever saw.” 

Mrs. Leeds was mystified. She did not under- 
stand her husband’s sudden change of front. 
“ You may forgive her, William,” she said se- 
verely, “ because you’re a man, and don’t realize 
the disgrace she has brought upon us. The idea 
of her running off and getting married like that! 
What will all our friends say? How could you 
do such a thing, Marion? — Just when your father 
has had to close his bank, too! ” 

282 


Reconciliation 

Marion did not answer, but began to cry 
softly. 

“ Never mind, child,” said her father hastily, 
patting her gently on the back; for, manlike, he 
hated a scene. “We can have another wedding 
— no one besides us knows of this. And before 
we have it well give a big dinner and announce 
the engagement. Thatll be fuss enough to suit 
you, my dear, won’t it? ” he ended, addressing 
his wife. - 

“You know I don’t like fussing, William, any 
more than you do,” returned his wife plaintively. 
“ But if Marion is to be married decently she will 
have to have a proper trousseau, and have the 
ceremony performed in church; and I don’t see 
why we shouldn’t invite a few friends here to the 
house afterwards.” 

“ Thank Heaven,” said Holbrook to himself, 
“ Pauhne and I won’t be put through any 
such torture as that — one ceremony’s enough 
for us.” 

“ Mamma,” said Marion, looking at her 
mother reproachfully through her tears. “ You 
haven’t once spoken either to Mr. Holbrook or to 
283 


The Short Cut 


Fred, and Mr. Holbrook has come here and of- 
fered to help papa out of his difficulties.” 

“You are very good, Mr. Holbrook,” said 
Mrs. Leeds warmly, “ and I hope you’ll pardon 
me for not having greeted you before. But I’ve 
been so overwrought that I hardly know what 
I’ve been doing or saying. Is this your wife? 
How do you do, my dear. I congratulate you, 
and your husband also, and I hope you’ll both 
be very happy.” 

“ Thank you,” said Frank. 

Then Mrs. Leeds said coldly to her new son-in- 
law: “ I congratulate you, too, Mr. Barry, though 
you took the best daughter any woman ever had 
without asking for her. But if her father is sat- 
isfied, I am.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Leeds,” responded Barry, 
with the faintest tinge of sarcasm, “ I shall try to 
deserve your good opinion.” He noticed, how- 
ever, that she did not congratulate her daughter. 

“ Mr. Barry,” said Mr. Leeds heartily, “ I wish 
you and your father, and you, Mr. Holbrook, and 
your father and your charming wife, as well as 
any friends you may care to invite, to dine with 
284 


Reconciliation 


us here at seven o’clock a week from next Satur- 
day evening. Meanwhile, my dear Mr. Barry, I 
shall ask you to permit Marion to remain at home 
here until after her marriage with you has been 
again, and this time openly, celebrated. I prom- 
ise you, my boy, you won’t have long to wait; 
and I think it will be most fair to her and to all 
of us who are concerned for her, if you will con- 
sent to this arrangement.” 

I do consent to it most willingly, Mr. Leeds,” 
replied Barry, “ and I thank you heartily for 
your kindness and indulgence toward both of us. 
No doubt we were too precipitate, but you 
know ” 

“ Yes, I know — I understand perfectly,” in- 
terrupted the banker. “ Youth is hot-blooded, 
and can’t always wait. But we, who are older, 
know that no one can ride roughly across Public 
Opinion without getting many sharp thrusts for 
his temerity. Depend upon it, diplomacy will, 
in the long run, always accomplish more than 
force.” 

When, a little later, Holbrook and Pauline 
got up to take their leave, Fred felt a pang of 
285 


The Short Cut 

envy. He could not depart freely with his wife, 
as Frank could. 

‘‘Are you coming, too, Fred?” Holbrook 
asked. 

“ Yes,” answered Barry; “ but I won’t go back 
to your house; I’ll go to my father’s.” 

Marion approached near to her husband and 
said softly: “ Dear Fred, be patient for my sake. 
The plan papa suggested is, I think, best ; and I 
know he means what he says, and that very soon 
we’ll be married again, and then no one but God 
can ever part us.” 

For answer Fred kissed her; then made his 
adieus to Mr. and Mrs. Leeds, and departed 
with Frank Holbrook and Pauline, who, though 
somewhat chagrined, for Fred’s sake, at the out- 
come of their visit, yet could not justly complain. 

In front of the house they separated; Fred to 
go to his father, and his friends to return to their 
new home. 


286 


CHAPTER XXV 


PROBATION 

A TRAVELER who has been wild with thirst in 
some great desert, and who then has seen 'signs 
of a distant spring, could perhaps understand 
how Fred Barry felt while waiting to have his 
wife restored to him. True, he saw her every 
day, but that only made his enforced self-denial 
harder. 

But Marion, more patient than he, was su- 
premely happy, and when at night they parted, 
he to return to his father’s house and she to seek 
her solitary bed, she would whisper to him words 
of encouragement and hope, and would speak 
brightly of the time when they could be always 
together. 

Dr. Barry, to whom Fred had told all that had 
transpired, regarded his son’s impatience with 
some amusement. 

“ What’s the use of worrying? ” he said one 
287 


The Short Cut 


day. “ A few months isn’t much out of a life- 
time, and when they’re past you’ll value Marion 
the more for having had to wait for her.” 

“ You don’t think it will be longer than a 
month! ” exclaimed Fred, dismayed. “ My vaca- 
tion will be over in two months ; and when I think 
of the time we could be having, were it not for 
silly and prejudiced people, it makes me wild.” 

“ It wouldn’t do,” Dr. Barry observed, “ for 
your individual conduct to become the general 
rule. A secret marriage is not right; for the 
principals’ relatives, at least, who are always 
more or less affected by it, should be warned that 
it will take place.” 

“ But suppose two persons are determined to 
marry despite all opposition, should they, in that 
case, announce their intention to their relatives? ” 

“ They should,” responded Dr. Barry gravely, 
“ as a mark of respect.” 

“ I believe you’re right, father,” said Fred 
slowly. “ But I did ask Mr. Leeds for Marion, 
and after he had refused even to consider my pro- 
posal, I told him to his teeth that I would marry 
her anyway. The reason I did not tell you be- 
288 


Probation 


forehand was that I knew you would counsel me 
to wait, and I would not have liked to have dis- 
obeyed you.” 

‘‘You did virtually disobey me by doing* what 
you knew I would have advised you not to do,” 
said Dr. Barry with a smile. “ But I don’t 
blame you absolutely; for, with the provocation 
you had, I might have used my father in the same 
way. Marion is a fine woman.” 

“ She’s the very best woman in the world,” 
averred Barry with conviction. 

“ I think she is,” his father agreed. “ Let me 
see — what day is this? ” 

“ Friday,” said Fred gloomily. 

“ Friday, eh? You two’ve been separated, 
then, just three days; or, rather, nights — you 
haven’t been away from her much, days.” 

“ I think Mr. Leeds ought to rush things 
now,” pursued Fred impatiently. “ He reopened 
his bank this morning on the strength of the 
money which Mr. Holbrook advanced, and, which 
he never would have gotten had he not been my 
father-in-law. Frank was very kind to do that.” 

“He certainly was,” conceded Dr. Barry; 

289 


The Short Cut 


“ but I guess the money’s safe. Mr, Leeds has 
a splendid reputation for honest dealing. What 
evening do we dine with him? ” 

“ One week from to-morrow. I wish it were 
over.” 

“ Not more than I do, Fred,” declared his 
father. “ Those long formal dinners, with their 
ceaseless and senseless chatter, madden me. I 
need not ask where you are going,” he added, 
smiling, as Fred rose to depart. 

“ When I see Marion,” returned his son, “ I 
feel like Tantalus, who, though the cup came 
near to his parched lips, could not drink of it.” 


290 


CHAPTER XXVI 


CONCLUSION 

“Marion!” 

“ What is it, sweetheart? ” 

“ Have you said good-bye to everyone? ” 

“ To everyone, dear.” 

“ Frank and Pauline are waiting for us out- 
side in their automobile.” 

“ Oh, Fred, I’m so glad it’s all over. It was 
good of papa to hasten our — church marriage. 
Do you realize it’s only three weeks ago to-day 
that he announced our engagement at the din- 
ner? ” 

“ I know. Marion, you look beautiful in that 
bridal dress.” 

“ Do I? If I seem beautiful to you, I am sat- 
isfied.” 

“ Come, dearest; we must go. Was not that 
a superb wedding march they played in the 
church to-day? ” 


291 


The Short Cut 


“ To me it was the sweetest music I ever 
heard.” 

“ Have your presents been packed and put in 
the car? ” 

“ I believe so. I had forgotten them, Fred. 
But let us not keep our friends waiting.” 

Quickly they ran through the gauntlet of 
happy faces that lined the stairs ; but not quickly 
enough to escape the showers of rice and orange 
blossoms that pursued them. 


THE END 



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